I'll Stand By You
by images-in-words
Summary: Co-written with hayleynymphadora. When 18-year-old Santana Lopez ran away from home and found herself in New York City, she didn't know what she was going to do. Then she met the young darling of Broadway, Rachel Berry, purely by chance. Sometimes when you leave everything you know behind, you find everything you didn't know you needed. (AU)
1. Chapter 1

**I'll Stand By You**

 _chapter one_

It was pouring rain, again, and Santana could feel the squish of her cold feet inside her soaked sneakers while she ran for shelter. The eighteen year old ducked beneath an overpass a couple of blocks from where she had been attempting to use a pay phone before the storm had hit. Not that her _abuela_ would have answered the call anyway, but it was a nice thought while it lasted. She cursed under her breath and pulled her jacket closer to her, even though it was wet and she could feel the chill down to her bones.

She was lucky to have even found a working pay phone, anyway. Her _abuela_ had confiscated her cell phone before that final, fateful confrontation, forcing her to seek out other means of communication - knowing, of course, there weren't many in this digital age. For an old bat, Santana mused, her _abuela_ was surprisingly with it about some things. There was no betrayal worse than the betrayal of your own blood, and after her parents were gone, leaving her with just her _abuela_ , well...this was how she'd expected it to go. It had been inevitable, really. From bad to worse and finally to intolerable. She knows her friends back home would have helped her out, but her pride had kept her from asking, and so she'd done the only other thing she could think to do, which was to take herself as far away from the situation as possible. Now, after buses, trains and a couple of kind strangers on the road, here she was: New York City, the sprawling metropolis of her childhood dreams. She just hoped it wouldn't become a nightmare, like everything else in her life.

As she shielded herself from the elements, she thought long and hard about her next move. _'Plenty of people live on the streets in New York,'_ Santana told herself. _'You can busk for food money and stay in a hotel for... a night or so until you run out of savings...fuck.'_ She knew she was in way over her head, but she absolutely could not stand to continue fighting with her _abuela_. With her parents out on business, her _abuela_ was the only person she had, and being anywhere near that house made her feel not only unwanted (which was bad enough when it came to this woman who had once been the light of her life), but borderline unsafe, with the talk of conversion therapy she heard on a daily basis. The rain let up enough for San to come out of hiding and start walking down the street again. _'Think while you walk, think while you walk,'_ she coached herself. _'There has to be a way for me to stay out of the streets...'_

 _Damn you,_ she thought, tears welling up in her dark eyes. _Damn you,_ abuela _. Why did you have to make everything so hard? Why couldn't you just accept me as I am, or at least just let me be?_ But these were questions to which she knew she would never get the answers. Her grandmother had always been ready to voice her disapproval, but rarely ever expressed anything else. That was just how it was. Her mother and father had tried to mediate things between them, to the detriment of their own relationship, and Santana had vowed she'd be damned if she was going to be the reason they ended up getting divorced, as so many of her friends' parents had. No, someone had to go, and since her _abuela_ was old and incapable of living on her own, and because her son - Santana's father - would never even consider putting her in some kind of senior living facility, it had to be her. It was _always_ going to be her. Better it happen now, with her mother and father away, than later. She wouldn't have wanted them to be in the middle of all that drama. This was going to break their hearts enough, without actually seeing her walk out the door and into a big and dangerous world, with only the clothes on her back and the contents of her college savings fund in her wallet.

Since her college savings didn't include much, she knew she wasn't going to make it very long in New York without some serious help. She needed to make friends _fast_ , or else be smarter about how she was going to get around day to day. Santana sighed, knowing that if she'd stuck to her summer job instead of ditching it to spend more time with Quinn and Brittany, she would've had a lot more money to bring with her. She had spent her high school years telling herself to have fun now, that she'd have time to work for the rest of her life. Of course, she'd done all of this not knowing what would happen with her family situation, not knowing that she would be leaving home so early on in her life. Where she'd once considered her savings a small fortune, she was now realizing so many things at once - mainly, that the cost of living in New York was much higher than that of Lima, Ohio.

Still, as the rain tapered off to a light mist, she walked with her head up and her shoulders confidently set, wanting to appear as though she belonged to this city, still so much brighter in the darkness than Lima had ever seemed in daylight. She'd heard that if you look like a victim, you'll eventually become one, and she had no intention of ever being somebody's victim again. Her _abuela_ had gifted her with that much, at least. She didn't really have much of an idea of where she was, although the last person with whom she'd hitched a ride had mentioned something about the theater district being near where she'd been let off. Santana had harbored a secret love of Broadway musicals since childhood, even though she knew that she'd probably never get to actually see one performed live. And yet - now, here she was, in the Big Apple itself, the Great White Way somewhere near. The thought warmed her through the cold rain, lent speed and strength to her steps. Before long, the signs and marquees came into view, and Santana laughed softly to herself. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized it was the first time she'd laughed since before she'd turned her back on her old life and left everything and everyone she'd ever known and loved behind, but she pushed the thought away as she approached the theater where "Wicked" was apparently running. A wide, almost goofy smile stretched across her face. "Wicked" was her favorite, and now here she was, standing beneath the marquee at the very theater where the tale of Glinda and Elphaba played out in front of a packed house night after night. She stared in wonder. It was almost like a dream.

A dream which, sadly, she could not afford. But a good dream, nonetheless. She was one step closer to it all. She thought back to the ballet classes she'd taken in her youth; dance had fueled her feisty personality throughout grade school, and junior high. Once she'd joined her high school cheerleading squad, the Cheerios, she just hadn't had time to pursue it further. It was one of her greatest regrets, choosing one over the other. Dance had gotten her through every battle she'd ever had to face. Maybe, she thought optimistically, it could someday help her get through these feelings as well. One day she hoped to continue her training again. Until then, she knew that she now had something to work toward, another motivator in the equation. She continued her walk, looking all around her as she did so. Although she was trying very hard not to look like a tourist, or look lost, she found it difficult to refrain from taking in every sight and sound.

At that moment, in a tall building not too far from the theater where she'd been performing, the current darling of the Broadway scene stood in the corridor outside her apartment, locked the door and turned up the collar of her long coat, knowing it was cold and rainy outside. She hadn't been able to sleep since she'd gotten home from the show, and thought maybe a little walk outside would help to relax her, clear her head. The city had always been a friend to her, a source of comfort in those times when her feelings were all jumbled, her thoughts disordered. The sights and sounds of this most amazing of places almost never failed to calm her, and she expected this time to be the same as always. By the time the elevator brought her down to the first floor lobby, where she and the security guard exchanged knowing glances, the man grunting his usual perfunctory "Ms. Berry," her smiling her usual smile in reply, the rain had become a soft drizzle, the lights of the city smudged like a watercolor painting against the street and sidewalk. Once again, the city showed her its unique and unexpected beauty, and Rachel was grateful - until a scream broke the stillness of the night. Instinctively, she ran in its direction.

Santana's breathing was heavy as she tried to compose herself. She knew the scream had drawn attention to her - which was unintentional - but she hadn't heard the bicyclist behind her and he'd scared her half to death. He was stopping for nothing, not even people walking down the center of the sidewalk. She wasn't used to so many people being around all the time, least of all so many trying to share one sidewalk and cross the street at the same time. Her heart pounded in her chest as she placed her hand on it, pulling herself to the side of the shared pathway and telling herself to calm the hell down as a figure came jogging towards her.

"Are you all right?" the figure said as it approached. As Santana calmed, her vision cleared, and she saw that her questioner was a short, beautiful young woman with long dark hair, large chocolate colored eyes, and a slightly longish nose. "I heard you just as I was leaving my apartment, and I would never have forgiven myself if I didn't investigate the matter. I carry Mace and a rape whistle, plus I've taken several self-defense classes, so..." The woman's voice trailed off. "You - you're not hurt, are you?"

"No," Santana said, finally feeling as though she could breathe normally again. She squirmed under the short woman's intense gaze, feeling both uncomfortable and somehow safe at the same time. "No, I'm fine. Thank you, though. It was just a stupid guy on a bicycle - he came up behind me, so fast...it kinda scared the crap out of me. Anyway, I'm good now. Thanks again."

The woman stuck her gloved hand out suddenly for Santana to shake, a dazzlingly bright smile lighting up her face. "I'm Rachel Berry."

Santana didn't know what to make of this Rachel person, but she figured she'd need to make some friends in a hurry if she was going to survive in this crazy city. She took the offered hand and shook it, smiling in response despite her uncertainty. "Santana Lopez. I'm...new in town."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance. Santana...that's a lovely name. Are you hungry? You look like you could maybe use a nice, hot meal. I know a little diner not too far from here. Why don't you accompany me and tell me a little bit about yourself, hmm?"

Santana glanced a bit sheepishly down at her wallet, then back up at the mysterious woman standing in front of her. Based on the size of her diamond earrings and matching necklace, she wasn't so sure that her definition and Miss Rachel Berry's definition of "little diner" would coincide. She bit her lip and opened her mouth to protest, "Actually, I should probably just be..."

"My treat," Rachel insisted, linking arms with the total stranger. Santana's eyes widened in shock, but she didn't pull away, surprising both herself and her new acquaintance. "I'm in dire need of some coffee - I feel like I haven't slept in ages. Besides, their food is to _die_ for! You'll adore it, I'm sure of it. You'll never want to eat anywhere else ever again." Rachel started to walk as she spoke, so Santana had little choice but to keep pace with her, their arms still joined.

"I...okay, sure." Santana agreed, if only to make herself feel like she had some sort of control over the situation. Rachel Berry seemed hell bent on taking her, and she wasn't sure there was much else she could do at this point. (Although Santana suspected that if she really _had_ tried to pull away, Rachel wouldn't have stopped her.)

"Excellent!" Rachel exclaimed, as though they hadn't already been walking for a minute and a half. "So, Santana - what brings you out into our fair city's streets so late? I myself have a habit of taking short strolls around the neighborhood when I'm feeling restless and can't sleep, which is more often than I would prefer these days - although of course I never let it affect a performance - but you...you seem rather young to be out and about by yourself at this hour."

Santana felt herself bristle internally, but she managed not to let it show, smoothly answering, "I'm eighteen, actually. Just graduated from high school, taking a year off before I go to college. New York is...it's a place I've always wanted to see, so here I am."

"That's wonderful! There's no better place to start your education, even if it's not in a classroom, than right here." Rachel's legs seemed far too long for her small stature, Santana noticed, peeking out as they did from a short skirt that just barely extended past the hem of her jacket. Her strides were surprisingly long too, as they trotted along briskly. "What are you planning to study, if I may ask?"

"Dance," Santana replied, biting her lip. She hadn't intended to answer so honestly, but there was something so genuine in Rachel's manner, like the woman actually cared about who she was and what she wanted to do, that she found she couldn't help herself. "I really love to dance. It's, like, my favorite thing in the world."

Rachel smiled at the slightly taller girl, taking in the details of her lovely face - the warm, caramel-toned skin, the full, red lips, the bright, yet somehow wary eyes. "That's wonderful. I'm sure you're quite talented. It's just a feeling I have, and I'm almost never wrong about these things. Call it something of a sixth sense, if you will. I remember my own time in dance classes quite fondly."

Rachel spoke, Santana noticed, as if she were quite a bit older than herself, but another, closer glance at the diminutive starlet told her that the other woman couldn't be much older than a recent college graduate. It was more likely that she just seemed older because she had so much experience with the city. Santana didn't mind - she was eager to learn, and she knew it was just sheer dumb luck that she had met someone like Rachel so quickly after entering the city limits. Besides, Rachel had an intriguing quality about her that Santana couldn't quite put her finger on. The woman was talkative, that was certain, but very knowledgeable and seemingly more than happy to share her trade secrets about New York and all it had to offer.

"You're a dancer? Professionally?" Santana prompted, wanting to know more about the woman walking beside her.

Rachel gave a light laugh. "Not quite. At least, not according to Cassandra July-"

" _Crazy Cassie July?_ " Santana cut her off, amazed. She double blinked. "You mean you _know_ her? I've seen her on YouTube. She's a legend, and not entirely in a good way."

" _Know_ her?" Rachel waved her hand as if to say it was nothing. "She was my dance instructor at NYADA. Whatever _else_ she is, she's an incredible dancer – I, regrettably, am not. However, I _was_ good enough to pass her class and obtain my degree in theatre performance, which was good enough for me," Rachel continued to explain, as they walked through the door of what truly _was_ a small diner.

A pair of tired-looking waitresses perked up instantly when they saw Rachel walk in; their smiles fell momentarily when another young woman followed, but came back as their two new customers settled into a comfortable booth.

"Hello, Dani. Hello, Sugar," Rachel called, waving the waitresses over. "How are you tonight? Business has been good, I hope?"

"Business is _never_ good at this hour," Sugar cracked around a mouthful of bubble gum. She blew a small bubble, let it pop, then resumed chewing. "At least not until you come in," she said, smiling sweetly, touching Rachel's hand as she did. Santana found herself disliking this one instantly, bristling at the inappropriate gesture.

" _Down,_ girl," the other waitress said. She looked at Santana appraisingly. "Who's your friend, Rachel? I don't think I've ever seen this one before."

"Oh! Where are my manners? Please forgive me," Rachel exclaimed, blushing faintly. Santana stared at her incredulously. "I'd like you to meet my friend Santana Lopez. She's newly arrived in the city and was in search of the finest all-night eatery in town, so of course I brought her here."

"First rule of living in New York: flattery _will_ , in fact, get you everywhere," the waitress said. Turning back to Santana, she extended her hand. Santana shook it. "Hi. Nice to meet you, Miss Lopez. Can I start you two off with something to drink?"

"Coffee, please," Rachel groaned. "Santana, please feel free to order anything you want. As I said before, this is my treat."

"Um, coffee sounds great. Thanks." Sugar, the redhead, stepped around Dani to place two oversized menus on the table between Rachel and Santana.

"We'll be back in a few moments to take the rest of your order," she said, smacking her gum. "Rachel - you still take your coffee with _...sugar_ , right?"

Santana noticed the way the waitress was looking at Rachel. It was a look she hadn't seen before. It was a hungry look, almost predatory, and it made her shiver despite the warmth of the small diner. She glared up at Sugar, not bothering to hide her distaste. Rachel, for her part, seemed oblivious to the waitress' gaze, just smiling politely, as though Sugar wasn't blatantly hitting on her.

"Come on, Sugar. Leave them alone," Dani admonished. "You want to have a conversation with Miss Berry, call her on your own time."

Once they left the area, Santana gave a nervous little laugh. "You must come here often?" she surmised. Rachel gave a little shrug.

"Often enough, I suppose. I used to work here, too. That's how I know them so well." Then, anticipating Santana's next question before she even had a chance to ask it, she said, "When I was in college, I supported myself by being a waitress. I know Sugar is a little much, but you get used to her personality. She's like that with everyone. And Dani? She's one of the kindest people you'll ever meet," Rachel paused and gave the aforementioned girl a wink as her coffee was placed in front of her and took a little sip, heedless of the steam rolling off the top of it. "But I know all about _them_. I want to learn more about _you_."

Rachel was blunt, that was for certain. San sipped her coffee casually, avoiding answering right away. _Lie? Or tell the truth?_ She'd already told Rachel _part_ of the truth - the truth about loving to dance and wanting to study it. She'd also only just met this girl, and though she seemed trustworthy enough, anyone can put off the appearance they want to give. Rachel had already mentioned having a degree in theatre performance. Obviously, she was an actress. But since Santana could also find no motive for deception on Rachel's part, she felt torn, unsure as to how to proceed from here.

Dani's reappearance at their table gave Santana a reprieve and a few moments to determine her best move while Rachel ordered a large house salad. Santana was actually pretty hungry, but settled for a simple grilled cheese sandwich not wanting to put Rachel out despite the older woman's advisement to order anything she wanted. The Broadway starlet raised her eyebrows in surprise, but said nothing, to Santana's relief.

"Um...well." Santana set her cup down, fidgeting with the handle, running her finger up and down it distractedly. "What do you want to know?"

"Well," Rachel said, teasingly drawing the word out with a smile, "Let's start at the beginning, shall we? Where are you from, what do you like to do besides dance, where do you see yourself in five years - that sort of thing."

Santana blinked, trying to retain all that Rachel had just said. "Okay, well." She drew in a deep breath, let it out in a big huff. "I'm from Ohio. Kind of a small town girl, as the song goes." The woman across from her laughed delightedly at the Journey reference, and the musical sound of it warmed Santana in a way she hadn't felt in a long time. She wanted to hear more of it.

"Although I didn't quite take the midnight train - mine was a little bit earlier." Rachel laughed again. Santana actually felt herself blushing; it almost seemed wrong to be having such a good time after everything that had just happened to her, but she pushed the negative thought aside.

"Very clever," Rachel said, raising her coffee cup to take another sip of the still-warm beverage. She had indeed added sugar to it, along with half-and-half, just as Santana had. "My old Glee Club coach would have greatly appreciated that. He was _such_ a fan of that band. So much so, to be honest, that it wasn't until about a year after I graduated from high school that I could listen to them again."

"You were in Glee Club, huh?" Santana repeated the bit of information, trying to commit to memory every detail she could about this woman. "That's funny - my coach was the same way. Must be a show choir director thing, to like Journey."

"I'm not sure," Rachel mused. "I don't remember my mom's Glee Club ever doing Journey, but that could have been just because _my_ coach used that band as inspiration so often that _she g_ ot sick of it too, " Rachel laughed, suddenly feeling nostalgic for those much simpler days.

"You weren't in your mom's Glee Club?" Santana questioned, thinking back to when Rachel had said her director was male.

Rachel gave Santana a wink. "My family life is...a little complicated."

The young Latina scoffed, nodding in understanding. "Tell me about it." She took another sip of her coffee, thinking that she and Rachel might get along just fine. Despite their clear difference of personality, they seemed to have a lot in common. One of those friendships that just...clicked.

"So, you're a small town girl. I hope you weren't living in a lonely world," Rachel joked. Her smile vanished when she saw Santana stiffen; clearly, she'd struck a nerve. "I'm sorry. Did I say something wrong? I didn't mean to - I -"

"No, no," Santana hastily responded. One of Rachel's hands covered hers, where it had been set next to her coffee cup. "No, you didn't. It's just - let's say there were times when it felt that way." She smiled to ease Rachel's sudden anxiety, warmed by the other woman's gentle concern. "But I guess that's true for just about everybody when they're in high school, right?"

"Or even when they're out of it," said Rachel. "Look at me. Outside of the theater, I have no life. All I do is work. Rehearse, perform, sleep. Sometimes I feel like these late night walks are the only times I can ever truly relax, and just... _be._ You know what I mean?"

Sugar brought their food over. Rachel looked up and thanked the waitress with a pleasant smile. Santana declined to acknowledge her, getting the _pop_ of a blown bubble in response.

They ate in silence for a time, each caught up in their own private thoughts. After a little while, Santana looked up from her plate with a nod and a little smile. "Yeah. What you said a minute ago? That makes a lot of sense." There was a pause where the two girls simply took in the moment. After a beat, Santana continued their conversation, not particularly wanting the night to end, knowing she had nowhere to go after this, not particularly wanting to think about that dismal fact.

"So, um," she wet her lips. "What are you starring in, currently?" She felt kind of bad for asking. Rachel was likely well known in the theatre world, but Santana just hadn't had the time to keep up with it recently, dealing with some obviously more pressing concerns.

" _Funny Girl_ ," Rachel answered. "And I'm honored to do so - don't get me wrong. It was always my dream to follow in Ms. Streisand's footsteps. It's just...it's a _lot_ sometimes. Being in theatre, you don't really get much time to yourself. You'd think my social life would be thriving, but only during the day while I'm at work. Occasionally there's a party or what have you, but...all of my close friends, I left behind when I moved away from Ohio." She knew that she was babbling a little, but she couldn't help herself. It felt good to open up to someone - someone who _hadn't_ heard it all a million times before.

"I can relate. Um, I mean, like, you know, in the sense that I left some good friends behind in Ohio to do this whole gap year travel thing," Santana said, wishing she could take the words back almost as soon as she said them, fearing that Rachel would figure out that she wasn't being completely truthful. "So, you're saying that achieving your lifelong dream of stardom, fame and fortune isn't exactly all it's cracked up to be?"

Rachel laughed, more at herself than at the question; but when she returned her focus to the young woman sitting across from her, she could see something haunted in her dark eyes, some recent pain that she was trying to hide, without much success. She found herself desperately wanting to learn more, to find out just what it was that had cast that deeper shadow there - but she didn't want to pry, or scare the girl away. If the plan that was taking shape in her mind worked out, there would be time for her to find out.

"Well, no. Not entirely. I mean, of course the validation of my talent and all my hard work is wonderful. And the money doesn't hurt, certainly." She sighed wistfully and raised her hand to signal Dani for a refill. When the waitress came over to their table, Santana covered her cup with her hand and shook her head 'no,' not wanting to cost Rachel any more than she already had. Once Dani had walked away and they were alone again, Rachel continued. "I know these are what one might call 'first world problems' or whatever, but...as the saying goes, it's lonely at the top. Or at least it _can_ be. But all the people I work with are great, and the work itself is both challenging and absorbing, so I comfort myself with that. I try to, anyway."

Santana took in what the other woman was telling her, unsure what to make of it. So, even when you're a star with money and fame, you can still be a lonely insomniac? What did that mean for _her_ , then? Right now, Santana was homeless, scared, alone in a new city that she knew absolutely nothing about. And what was her plan? To...rise to the top? For what? Clearly, it wasn't the highlight of Rachel's life either. What did that leave? Some happy medium, she assumed. Now, if only she could figure out what that medium actually might be...

"I'm not _complaining_ , you understand," Rachel amended, pulling Santana out of her reverie. "Just thinking out loud, really. I think mostly I just...I miss my old friends. I miss the old times. I've made new friends, but...my best friend in high school, he's on a different track. We don't really get to talk anymore. And my ex from high school...I thought he was the love of my life."

"Oh..." Santana felt bad, but wasn't sure what else to say. "What - if you don't mind my asking - what happened with...your ex?"

"He...he passed away." Rachel looked down and then back up quickly, flashing a small smile. "But - it's okay. I'm okay. Just being nostalgic tonight. Don't mind me."

 _She's straight. She's straight and she misses her old friends. Does that mean she doesn't want to make new ones?_ Santana tried desperately to process all of this new information, suddenly disappointed, and a little fearful. _Where would that leave me?_

"Since Finn passed away, I've had other relationships," Rachel continued, her eyes misting over as she recalled the hectic last several years of her life. "Men, women...people in and out of the theater. But relationships - they've always been difficult for me. I guess maybe that's because I can be kind of difficult myself." She laughed softly, crinkling up a discarded sugar packet in her slender, delicate fingers. "I still believe in love, though. And I feel it can be found in the most unexpected of places, in the most unusual circumstances, as long as you have that faith in it. And I believe in friendship, too. You can never have too many friends, I always say - although of course that's ironic in _my_ case, since I've never actually had too many friends."

Santana blinked, taken aback by the need to discard the last thought she'd just had, thrown by Rachel's words. _Okay, so she's_ not _straight, not strictly speaking_ , she thought. _I never would have guessed._ She realized that there was so much more to the young starlet than met the eye. Rachel was a complex, complicated person who had achieved a lot in a short time, yet still felt so much missing in her life. She saw pain and sadness in the expression on Rachel's uniquely beautiful face, but she saw strength and resilience there too. If Rachel could get through the loss and hurt she'd experienced, Santana thought, then maybe...just maybe...she could somehow get through her own as well.

"I'm sorry you lost your ex. I know what it's like to lose someone you love too," Santana said, thinking of her _abuela_. "It's hard, and it hurts like hell." She felt a tear welling in the corner of one eye, angrily wiped it away with the back of her hand. "But you know what? You just - you just have to go on. You have to make your own way through it, somehow."

Rachel smiled a warm, understanding, hopeful smile. She lifted her head proudly, sticking out her well-sculpted chin, her eyes shimmering with the idea of a better future. "Thank you." Santana had never heard anyone sound more sincere. "I...I think I needed that."

Still taken aback by Rachel's surprising mood change, Santana stumbled a little with her response. "You're...you're welcome. Anytime." But she meant it. She wasn't sure who Rachel was, really, and she knew they hadn't known each other for a very long time. But she felt...drawn to her. Compelled to be her friend.

Santana glanced up at the clock, nervously, knowing their night would eventually have to come to an end, and she had nowhere to go. She bit her lip. It was easier to ignore cold hard truths like that when Rachel was telling her all about her life and they were spilling things to each other that no one else knew. Now that there was a silence...

"Listen," Rachel said, her tone suddenly very serious. Her large, chocolate brown eyes seemed to glow with an intuitive understanding of Santana's true situation, even though they hadn't spoken about it. "I don't know where you're staying, or - or if you've even _got_ a place to stay, but if you like...you're welcome to stay with me. At least until you've got your plans sorted out."

Santana was stunned. Here she was, a virtual stranger - a wanted criminal on the run, for all Rachel knew, or a serial killer or something - and this woman was inviting her into her home without a second thought. That was either incredibly naive or incredibly generous of her; Santana couldn't decide which. And yet -

And yet.

Could she accept Rachel's offer? It was too much, too nice, too kind - and yet...how could she not?

"I - I don't know. I mean, I wouldn't want to put you out or anything," she stammered. "You've probably got a whole routine, a well-ordered life with assistants and managers and a driver and a bodyguard, and I...I'd probably just screw it all up."

Rachel's hand, warm and soft and so, so comforting, covered her own, and Santana quieted at the touch. It had been so long since anyone had touched her like that, had looked at her without expecting anything at all from her, that it was all she could do not to just get up and bolt out the door and out into the night, never to be seen again.

And yet, she knew she'd never be able to bear it if she never saw Rachel after this.

The Broadway starlet's musical laughter broke the silent tension of the moment, and she said simply, "No, you wouldn't. And I couldn't possibly sleep ever again if I knew you were out there, alone and vulnerable and unsafe."

"Hey, I can take care of myself," Santana protested weakly. But while her head may not have trusted Rachel entirely, her heart was longing for a home, even a temporary one, some semblance of normalcy in the midst of this sudden, overwhelming change that had taken place in her life. Ultimately, it was an easy decision to make. She let out a sigh. "On the other hand, I'd be willing to that bet your place is a _lot_ nicer than any hotel I could afford."

"Wonderful! It's settled, then." Rachel rose from her seat, leaning backwards to work the stiffness out of her back after sitting for so long. "Dani, we're leaving!" she called out. The waitress nodded in response from where she stood behind the cash register, knowing that Rachel would leave her payment on the table, as she always did; sure enough, Rachel fished her wallet out of her black purse, plucked a couple of bills from it and casually tossed them down on the table.

"Come on," she said, holding her hand out to Santana, who sat staring at the two fifty dollar bills that had just landed in front of her. $100 for a $20 check? "Come _on,_ " Rachel repeated, laughing. "Now you see the _real_ reason why they love me here. I'm a _very_ good tipper."


	2. Chapter 2

**I'll Stand By You**

 _chapter two_

Santana woke up in a sort of daze, taking a second to remember where she was. It was the opposite of where she had expected to be, after running away so suddenly and finding herself in the city almost by accident. She was wrapped up in a warm comforter, resting on a queen-sized bed in Rachel Berry's guest room that was admittedly much nicer than the one she had back at home. Well...back at her _old_ home. She yawned, stretched out her long, tanned legs, and sat up against the back board, looking around the room. She had been so tired the night before that she hadn't really taken the time to get a feel for Rachel's place.

The guest room was charming, furnished and decorated all in neutral tones of grey, yellow, and white. It was a fresh change for Santana, whose old bedroom walls had been painted chalkboard black and covered with posters. She checked the clock and saw that she'd slept a little later than she'd planned. It was 10:30 and she hadn't even heard Rachel get up, which she thought was weird; she was usually a pretty light sleeper.

Slowly, she made her way out of the bedroom and shut the door softly behind her. If Rachel had some kind of mid-morning nap in the middle of her usual routine, Santana didn't want to get in the way of that. She found her way to the bathroom, and quickly afterwards made her way to the kitchen. Hopping up onto a stool at the kitchen island, Santana found a hand-written letter laying flat, right next to an empty coffee cup. She smiled at Rachel's sentiment as she silently read the letter.

 _Santana,_

 _I hope you slept well. You'll have to tell me about the guest room, as no one has ever had the opportunity to give me any feedback on it, and I decorated it myself (with a touch of help from my friend Kurt, when he was here for a visit). I had rehearsal this morning - it was sort of last minute. I'm sorry to have left you alone! I feel absolutely terrible about it. I know it must be awkward, being in my house by yourself, but I don't want it to be. So please, make yourself at home. Snoop around, do whatever you wish. My only request is this: if you touch any of my sheet music, please put it back the exact way it was - I need it for a performance later on in the week and I simply don't have time to mess around with it._

 _I should be home around 2, and then I have to be back up at the theater by 6 for my show. It's silly of me to assume that you love theater, but I remember you saying you love dance and I thought perhaps you might like to see my performance tonight? I'm terrible at introductions, but the best way to get to know me is through my art. I've saved you one of the best seats in the house, and we can discuss it further when I get home._

 _All right, I'm babbling. Enjoy your morning coffee and I'll see you later!_

 _Much love, your friend -_

 _Rachel Berry_

The signature at the bottom of the paper was, presumably, the way that Rachel would autograph her fans' Playbills. Except, of course, for the tiny gold star sticker attached to the paper right next to Rachel's last name.

Santana had to laugh at that; there must be a story behind it somewhere. When Rachel got back, she would have to ask her about it. In the meantime, breakfast and a shower were items 1 and 1A on her mental to-do list. And coffee. _Definitely_ coffee. Her parents had instilled the same love/hate feeling about the beverage in her that they had themselves. They knew, and had told her repeatedly, that coffee was terrible for the body, that caffeine was an addictive substance, and so on, yet they cursed the fact that it was what they needed to get through their interminably long shifts at work. And so it was with Santana, who had come to rely on it to get herself going in the mornings, just as they had. At the thought, she missed her parents intensely for a moment, then angrily batted the feeling away. There was no room for regret in her world now. She had made her choice; now she had to learn how to live with it.

She found the coffee next to a beautiful, high-end (and obviously very expensive) coffee maker and began to brew a new pot; once that got started, she opened the large, almost intimidatingly tall refrigerator, all gleaming chrome and quiet efficiency. She gasped at the variety of foods it contained - there were all different types of breads and cheeses, fruits and yogurt, even a whole slew of juices from which to choose. And those were just the breakfast type items. Her head fairly spun at the cornucopia of delightful options - what to choose? After a few moments, she decided to make up a nice little fruit and cheese plate for herself, with some buttered toast and a tall glass of orange juice to boot. Once she'd made and buttered the toast (even Rachel's toaster was incredibly high-end, she noted), poured the juice into a clean glass that Rachel must have left for her on the counter, sliced up the cheeses and selected the fruits, arranging everything on one of the many plates she found in the expansive set of cupboards located above the long kitchen counter, she took everything back to the island. Once she was seated, she found herself reading Rachel's note once again.

It didn't surprise Santana that the starlet's handwriting was neat and precise, though not annoyingly so, like her teachers' penmanship had always seemed to be. It was completely in keeping with what she had seen of Rachel's character so far: controlled and disciplined, yes, but not completely rigid and by-the-book. There was an endearing girlishness to her "r"s and her "y," something very much in touch with who she must have been in her younger days. It made Santana smile once again, and it occurred to her that she'd smiled an awful lot ever since she'd met Rachel.

A blush reached her cheeks at the thought, but she pushed it away. She didn't have time for things like crushes right now. She needed to figure out what she was going to do with her life - and getting a job was the first step onto that path. Along with schooling of some sort - which couldn't be paid for without the job...

Santana sighed to herself and put her head in her hands, deep in contemplation.

 _You're in New York now,_ she told herself. T _here are probably tons of places hiring. You should go out looking today. But then how will you lock the apartment, if you don't have a key? The building had security and all, but still - and besides that, Rachel is kind of expecting you to be here when she gets home._

 _Rachel._

She had been so very accommodating - and to a complete stranger, no less. Santana's mind starting working, the cogs in her mind spinning as she munched on her toast. What the hell was she doing, staying in a stranger's home like this? Sure, Rachel had been more than kind to her. A total sweetheart, in fact, when Santana wasn't entirely sure that she was deserving of such a thing. But they still knew virtually nothing about each other! Although getting to know someone is how you make friends, was this the right way to do it? Not likely.

It was a nice little dream to be staying at Rachel's for some indeterminate amount of time, but Santana figured she should probably be leaving. She wasn't one to wear out her welcome, and although she had her concerns about how long she could last, realistically, out on the streets, it was still probably better for Rachel if she didn't continue to stay with her. Keeping a random stranger at your house had to bring about a huge level of stress...right?

As she pondered her next move, Santana failed to hear the sound of a key turning in the lock, and the door opening.

" _Hello?_ Rachel?" a woman's voice called. "It's Marley. I thought you were going to be at home today - oh!" The woman stopped short when she caught sight of Santana sitting at the kitchen island with her head in her hands.

"Who are you?" the woman asked, trying and failing to hide the alarm in her voice. "How did you get in here?" Then she blushed, shaking her head. "Oh, no. She must have gone out last night, met you and...wow. I must say, you look very young. I thought Rachel was looking for someone a little more...well, anyway. I'm sorry." She approached Santana, who was staring wide-eyed at the tall, awkward and quite beautiful woman standing in front of her with a large pile of what must have been Rachel's mail in her arms. "I'd offer a handshake, but, well.." she gestured with her chin to the bunch of envelopes she carried. "I don't exactly have a hand free at the moment."

Santana stood and crossed the kitchen to the living room, not caring that she was still clad only in her T-shirt and underwear, forgetting to be insulted - or complimented - by the implication that she had been Rachel's bed partner the previous night. (Rachel had offered her some sleepwear, but Santana had declined, steadfastly holding to her desire not to impose any more on Rachel than she absolutely had to.)

"Here - let me help you with that," she said, and Marley nearly tripped over herself in trying to pass some of her burden along. "Is this all fan mail?" she asked, startled by the sheer volume of it. Some of the envelopes were even adored with artistically inclined fans' renderings of Rachel's face, usually with her eyes closed and her mouth open, with musical notes floating around her head to signify that she was supposed to be singing. Some of the pictures were actually pretty good, Santana thought. Others were...well, not so much. Anyway, Quinn had been the artist in their little group, not her; she would bet that Q could draw something far better than any of these people had. Another pang of guilt stabbed at her chest. She stubbornly ignored it.

"Thanks," Marley said, letting out a little _whoof!_ of relief at having some of the burden of Rachel's mail taken from her. "And yes. it's her fan mail. Well, some of it, anyway. She gets a ton. I'm sure you know - she must have told you she's on Broadway, right?"

Santana set her share of the mail down on the couch, and Marley followed suit. Once her hands were free, she adjusted the dark-framed glasses she wore and stuck one out for Santana to shake. "Marley Rose. Personal assistant, friend and confidant of Rachel Berry, Broadway's hottest rising star. Sorry - I didn't catch your name before...?"

"That's because I didn't _give_ you my name," Santana cracked as she shook Marley's hand. "I'm Santana. A new...acquaintance of Rachel's. And yeah, we met last night, but...it's not what you think it is. Or what it looks like, or whatever."

"Not judging. We're all adults, after all," Marley replied, adjusting her glasses again. She looked to be about Rachel's age to Santana's eyes, probably not far removed from her college graduation, wearing a button-down blouse under a sweater, with a knee-length pencil skirt and sensible heels completing the personal assistant's ensemble. "What Rachel does in her off time is _totally_ her business. Definitely not mine, no sir."

"Uh, yeah. Like I said, it's not even like that," Santana reiterated. She scurried back to the kitchen island, grabbing the note and bringing it back for Marley to examine. When the other woman took it, she peered at it as though making sure she hadn't just been handed a counterfeit twenty dollar bill. "We're just friends. Rachel...she helped me out. That's all."

"Hmm," Marley finished reading the hand written letter and handed it back to Santana. "Well, far be it from me to intrude upon any charity Rachel finds herself doing these days. I was just dropping off her mail, and then I'll be on my way." She smiled pleasantly in spite of the not too subtle jab at Santana.

San stared blankly at the woman, a little in shock. She was _not_ a charity case...was she? Did this woman understand that she was coming off as rude, or was that just her personality? She bit her lip and gestured towards the door. "Far be it from me to stop you," she quipped, unsure if the woman had caught the slight irritation in her tone, not really caring if she had. Santana had been known to be mouthy at times, and while she didn't want to upset any of Rachel's friends, this woman had struck a chord with her. A dissonant, out-of-key chord.

"Have a lovely day." Marley nodded her head and closed the door behind her as she left. Santana shivered angrily, then paused. Before the interruption, she'd been contemplating getting the hell out of here. Why would it even _matter_ if she had upset one of Rachel's friends?

A pang in her heart told her it was because, deep down, part of her truly wanted to stay.

Of _course_ she would want to stay. Who _wouldn't_ want to stay in this mansion of an apartment, with such an extremely kind, not to mention gorgeous, woman? A talented woman who offers up free Broadway tickets and a warm bed, among other things? It just all seemed too easy. Much too easy. It didn't sit well with her that she hadn't had to struggle in the city, as she'd fully expected she would have to do. Take her lumps, pay her dues, all of that. Pick a cliché. But Rachel had found her right away and instantly begun providing for her. Santana hated to be anybody's responsibility, and she liked to earn things. She'd had to earn everything she'd ever gotten back home, hadn't she? This just felt like … like exactly what Marley had said.

 _Charity._

Well, screw that. She would stay, but she would earn her keep. Santana Lopez was nobody's charity case, damn it. When Rachel came home, she decided, they would have a little talk about rules and boundaries. If she was going to be here, she was going to be here not because Rachel had some kind of need to take care of somebody, anybody - but because she was important and necessary and valued.

She looked at the small mountain of mail on Rachel's plush couch. Marley certainly seemed capable enough, but she could probably use some help, right? She could swallow her pride and become the assistant's assistant, if it came to that. Or maybe the theater needed an extra stagehand or ticket booth worker? She didn't care what the job was, as long as she got one and could contribute something. As long as she could prove her worth. One shot was all she needed. One shot, and then that Marley girl and everyone else, even her _abuela_ , would see that Santana Lopez was _somebody_ , that she was way more than a hot-headed runaway who'd somehow gotten lucky and found a meal ticket in the form of a lonely Broadway starlet.

The old song says: _if I can make it here, I can make it anywhere._ Well, she was going to make it here, no matter what - and while meeting Rachel had undeniably been a big break, from here on out, Santana vowed that she would be making her _own_ damned breaks.

* * *

Rachel rushed about the theater, trying her best to be her normal, people-pleasing self. There was a lot to do before the show tonight, and the rehearsal that morning had mostly just been for a couple of new orchestra members, who'd needed to adjust themselves properly to their surroundings and performers. Now that was over, it was about time for Rachel to be heading back home, to Santana.

 _Santana_. God, how Rachel hoped the young girl was okay by herself there. Of course, she didn't think that Santana was incapable of taking care of herself; she just knew how scary being alone in the big city could be. Especially in the unfamiliar apartment of someone she'd only just met, someone brand new. Although she wanted to believe Santana's gap year story, she had a feeling that the girl must be hiding from something, whether that be a person, an idea, or life in general. Rachel understood _that_ entirely; she'd been there too, although she'd quickly learned that you can't run from reality. If this wasn't something that Santana already knew, she was bound to learn eventually, especially in a place like New York. Rachel just wanted to make sure she was there for the girl, in any way she _could_ be. They hadn't known each other long, but there was something about Santana that reminded Rachel of herself. If she'd had someone else to help her when she'd started off in the city, she would have been eternally grateful.

Her thought were interrupted by her personal assistant, Marley, who'd knocked at the door and then entered Rachel's dressing room without waiting for Rachel to answer. Rachel didn't mind, particularly since Marley came with coffee. She gratefully took a travel mug out of Marley's hands and smiled. "Marley! You're looking beautiful as ever."

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Miss Berry." She nodded her head in Rachel's direction and when Rachel rolled her eyes at the proper title, corrected herself. " _Rachel._ I ran into your...friend at your apartment. She seems...pleasant."

Rachel blinked, wondering from the tone of Marley's voice if something had gone wrong. "Did she seem like she was doing well? I feel bad about leaving her alone."

"I might have caught her at a bad time, honestly," Marley waved it off, stumbling a bit as she spoke about the awkward meeting. "It seemed like she'd just woken up, and I wasn't sure if she was someone you had taken home last night, or something like that - not that _that_ would be any of my business, but..." Marley blushed at the implication. "I'm not sure. She just seemed, I don't know...sort of out of it."

Rachel nodded in understanding. "Marley, we're _friends._ " She took a sip of her coffee. "You don't have to be so nervous around me, or anyone you meet at my home. Santana is just a friend I met last night. She'll be staying with me for a little while, until she can get on her feet. I hope that in the future you two will become better acquainted, as I'm thinking it's possible she might be around for a little while. It would be a shame if the two of you didn't get along."

Marley bit her lip, brushed away some imaginary lint on her sweater. "Well...I'm afraid I may have stepped in it a little bit on that front," she murmured. "I _totally_ didn't mean to do it, though. I think I might have given her a bad first impression anyway."

Rachel's eyes widened in surprise. It wasn't like Marley to get off on the wrong foot with people. Then again, she didn't often meet strangers who'd just gotten out of bed, especially at Rachel's apartment.

"What happened?" Rachel asked gently, cringing inwardly at the idea of any of her friends doing or saying anything rude or inappropriate to a guest in her home. Marley ducked her head, and the tell-tale gesture gave her away. Instantly, Rachel knew that something untoward had indeed taken place. She waited, knowing that her assistant was unfailingly honest - which was one of the reasons she'd hired her in the first place.

"I...I might have suggested that she was some kind of...charity case?" Her voice trailed upward at the end, but it was clearly not a question.

"Oh, Marley," Rachel sighed, bowing her head. She screwed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose with two fingers. "Listen - I honestly don't know Santana all that well just yet, but even so, I think it's safe to say that she wouldn't take kindly to that. Most people wouldn't. I'm shocked and disappointed, frankly."

"I know, Rachel, and I'm sorry." Rachel could see in Marley's face, and hear in her voice, that she truly did regret what she'd said. The young assistant sighed, then continued on, the words rushing out in a torrent. "What's worse is that I left right after that, without apologizing. I know, I know, I shouldn't have done that either, but - I was so embarrassed already, and I didn't trust myself not to make things worse."

Rachel put a consoling hand on the other woman's arm. Marley looked miserable already; there was no need to make her feel any worse. "You _do_ owe Santana an apology, Marley, but I know you didn't mean to cause any offense. I'm sure she'll forgive you, once you explain."

A thin, rueful smile quirked up the corners of Marley's lips, brightening her expression, but only a little. "I hope so. But I mean, I was a little bit flustered. I wasn't exactly expecting to be greeted by a stranger in her underwear when I was just trying to drop off your fan mail!"

The mental image of Santana in her underwear came to the front of Rachel's mind, unbidden. While it wasn't an... _unappealing_ thought, she shook her head to clear the image away. She and Santana still barely knew each other; she couldn't let the fact that she found the younger woman extremely attractive get in the way of the fragile, tentative friendship they were forming. Still, she silently cursed Marley for creating that image in her head all the same.

"I know, sweetie," Rachel rubbed at Marley's shoulder, letting her know she was forgiven. "I'm sure it'll be okay. If she was truly insulted, I'm sure she would have said something back. People get over little quips like that, and she seems like a very understanding person. Really, I'm sure it isn't even that big a deal." She waved it off casually and readjusted her purse on her shoulder. "Now," she linked arms with her assistant and began to walk in the direction of the theater door. "Let's get back to my place, shall we?"

"B-back to your place?" Marley sounded confused. Of course she intended to apologize, but was she really prepared to run into this... _Santana_ woman again so soon? "Aren't you needed _here?_ At the theater?"

Rachel shook her head and continued to walk, pressing her lips together. "Nope - we've already done all the necessary run-throughs, and I don't need to be back again until hair and makeup tonight. I just need to make a few quick purchases, and then I think we'll eat some lunch and see what Santana's been up to today."

What Rachel thought, but didn't say out loud, was that she was eager to see the girl and talk with her again. Especially now that it was morning and they weren't so sleep deprived. And anyway, the bag Santana carried with her was not very large, and Rachel doubted she had anything to wear to the theater that night - if Santana chose, as Rachel hoped she would, to take her up on her offer to go. She ran through her mental Rolodex, and it only took a few seconds for her to determine exactly where she should go to buy what she needed.

* * *

Freshly showered and dressed once again in her T-shirt and jeans, Santana sat on the couch in the spacious living room of Rachel's apartment, having moved all the mail over to one side, and flipped through the channels on the insanely large television that seemed to take up half the opposite wall. The viewing choices were staggering, nearly endless, but Santana wasn't really watching. Her thoughts were more occupied by her friends back home, the ones she had left with no warning or explanation, and she found herself longing to speak to Brittany or Quinn, her heart aching with a desire to tell them what had happened before her _abuela_ could poison their minds with her version of events.

And yet, as much as she wanted desperately to talk to them, to hear the sound of their voices, she worried that it might already be too late, that their hearts had already hardened against her, unwilling to forgive her for simply disappearing on them, vanishing like a ghost. What could she say? What could she tell them that could possibly make this all right? Her decision to leave had been impulsive, she knew; but she also knew in her soul that it was the right thing. Life in the Lopez household simply could not continue as it was, and even going away to college wouldn't completely solve the problem. Every Thanksgiving, winter break, spring break and summer season would be filled with the same bitter acrimony, the same harsh stares, the same sullen silences, the same shouting matches when her parents weren't there. No, it couldn't go on that way. Not without fracturing her family, and that was the one thing Santana could not bear. It was better this way.

It _had_ to be. Otherwise, she'd done this all for nothing.

Tears of frustration filled her eyes. She wanted to scream, to vent her anger, to purge herself of her rage and sorrow, but in these new and unfamiliar surroundings, she didn't even feel comfortable enough to do that. Not just yet. Wrapping her arms around herself, she made a sound of bitter resentment at being forced into this position. Rachel really had _no_ idea what she had let herself in for, inviting Santana into her life like this. She almost wanted to laugh, but the myriad of emotions swirling inside her wouldn't allow it. She wished the older woman were home already, needing badly to talk to her about everything, needing to tell her the truth. If Santana was going to stay here with her, she figured she owed Rachel at least that much, in repayment for her kindness and generosity.

Her thoughts turned once again to the diminutive singing star who had taken her into her home with virtually no questions asked. But Santana had questions of her own: who _was_ this woman, anyway? This beautiful, seemingly guileless, utterly trusting woman, who didn't seem to have a devious bone in her body? The questions turned over and over in her mind as she turned off the TV and wandered around Rachel's immaculately maintained living space, gawking at the rows and rows of awards and trophies lined up along several shelves, at the framed pictures of the young star posing with people so famous it actually boggled Santana's mind. Here she was with Patti LuPone, there with Tommy Tune, here with Bernadette Peters, Andrew Lloyd Webber, and...yes, Barbara Streisand herself. Santana wasn't very easy to impress, but she had to admit it - Rachel had already done a slew of amazing things in her life, and yet she couldn't possibly be more than three or four years older than her.

She wanted - no, she _needed_ \- to know more. Rachel had written that if Santana really wanted to learn who she was, she had to get to know her art. That was how she communicated with the world, how she showed her true self. Santana crossed the room and made her way over to the racks and racks of compact discs shelved above the state of the art audio system, with its equally state of the art surround sound speaker set-up. Her eyes scanned the titles until she found the one she wanted: _Funny Girl - Original Cast Album, featuring Tony Award Winner Rachel Berry as Fanny Brice._ Smiling, she opened the plastic case, turned on the stereo, and inserted the disc into the CD player.

"All right - let's hear what you got, short stack," she said, just as the opening notes of "Don't Rain on My Parade" began to fill the room.

As Rachel's smooth and melodic voice belted out of the speakers, Santana was absolutely blown away by the loud, expressive, beautiful sound that came from such a small, adorable woman. "Holy hell, Mini Streisand, where did all of _that_ come from?!" she asked out loud to no one, since she was the only person in the house. Rachel had an incredible talent, there was no denying it. No wonder she was receiving so much fan mail.

 _And she's offered you a seat at tonight's show. Of course you have to go! You need to see her perform live - if she sounds this good on a recording, I can't imagine...wow, you can really hear the character in her voice. What talent...what passion...what the_ _ **hell**_ _are you going to wear tonight?_ Her hopes fell as she realized she had absolutely nothing suitable to wear to the theater. She glanced down at her attire, suddenly feeling rather self-conscious. She couldn't ask Rachel to let her borrow something – hell, she was already staying in the woman's house, and this was a free ticket, besides. But…how was she supposed to kindly decline the offer to see this amazing musical? Especially since she really, truly wanted to go.

She was starting to feel restless in the cavernous apartment all alone, and she'd only been in the place for less than a day. Now, Santana was starting to understand Rachel's deep feelings of loneliness.

Sure, she could fill up the empty space with sound, whether on a compact disc or simply by singing out loud, but when the song was over, the silence would only return, even deeper than before. Rachel was at her best around other people - that much was clear from the pictures adorning the walls. Santana let the music wash over her as she looked more intently at the framed photographs. Rachel was smiling, laughing, at her happiest when she was interacting with friends, peers, or even fans. Her energy and vitality practically radiated from each picture. But in the few shots of her alone, Rachel looked somber, pensive, detached - not sad, exactly, but sort of like a kid who's wondering when her friends are going to come over to play again.

It was beyond obvious that Rachel Berry was not a person who hid her emotions well. Or at all, really. No, she was a person who felt things deeply, who expressed those feelings from the very core of her being. Santana realized that this was the essence of who Rachel was, and the reason why she was such a spectacularly gifted performer. That natural, inborn ability to easily tap such powerful emotions within herself was exactly what enabled her to touch those same emotions in each and every person in the audience on a nightly basis.

Santana shivered, listening to Rachel sing, wanting to feel what it must be like to be in that audience. To see her standing on the stage, in the spotlight, singing her heart out and connecting with the hearts and souls of hundreds of people at once. She'd seen a couple of high school musical productions back home in Lima, but of course they couldn't compare to this. Her insides twisted with the desire to see the show, warring against the desire not to ask any more from Rachel than she absolutely must. As the two desires warred within her, she stared out the enormous window at the city spread out beneath the impossibly tall building that Rachel called home. Had she not turned the stereo up to a wall-shaking volume, she would have heard Rachel and Marley entering the apartment, would have turned around to see the expression of shocked amazement on Rachel's face - and the bag she carried from one of the city's most exclusive and expensive clothing stores, containing the gown she was meant to wear to the evening's performance.

Santana scrambled to the stereo to turn it down, stumbling over her feet as she nearly fell into the sound system, somehow managing to smack the power button in the process, her face red with embarrassment.

"R-Rachel, I - you're home!" she stuttered, picking herself up off of the floor where she'd tripped and brushing off her clothes. "I...didn't expect you back so early...I hope it was okay that I was listening to your...um...I just I'd never seen the show, and I wanted to hear what the music...I wanted to hear you sing," she finally admitted, intensely staring down at the floor. The carpet was suddenly much more interesting than whatever look Rachel must have been holding in those dazzling chocolate brown eyes of hers.

Rachel laughed silently, amused and charmed by Santana's clumsiness. "I thought you said you were a dancer," she teased, setting her shopping bags down on the floor and crossing her arms over her chest with a small smirk. "Surely dancers are more graceful than that?"

Santana pulled her head up, her pride a little stung, even though she knew Rachel was only teasing. She looked Rachel directly in the eyes and and said, more bravely than she felt, "I usually am." Especially since she noticed Rachel's judgmental assistant was with her, and Santana was not one to be made a fool of. Her tone turned a little flirtatious when she added, "Maybe your voice just put me in a trance. You're very talented."

 _Nice save, Lopez,_ she prided herself.

She allowed herself a small smirk of her own at the pretty blush that colored Rachel's cheeks at her words. She might be young, but she had game. Back home, no one could deny that she could charm most any girl out of her pants, if she wanted. And looking at Rachel now, at the suddenly shy smile on her face, her pleased-yet-embarrassed posture, Santana realized that the idea of charming the Broadway star's pants off kind of excited her, kindling a flame low in her abdomen. And yet, another part of her said no, she shouldn't be thinking about Rachel that way. At least, not now. Not yet. That part of her wanted Rachel not just as someone to share her bed, but as a friend, a mentor of sorts, a guide to this enormous, unforgiving city. Contradictions and conflicting desires warred for dominance within Santana once again, but she wasn't about to let that show - _especially_ not in front of Marley.

"Smooth, Santana. Very smooth," Rachel laughed. "Where your feet might not be so graceful on rare occasions, your tongue certainly is." She clapped both hands over her mouth, realizing how suggestive, how risque that sounded, which was very much _not_ what she meant. Well, mostly, if she were being honest with herself. Marley turned to look at her with a positively scandalized look on her face, eyes wide behind her glasses. To tell the truth, Rachel thought, seeing that look was almost worth the slight embarrassment. Lord knew that girl needed to loosen up more than a bit.

Santana couldn't contain her hearty laughter at the scene. Rachel was adorable when she was perturbed like this, and it was hilarious to see Marley looking as though it was the first time she'd ever heard something even a little naughty.

Her laughter was quickly joined by Rachel's, but the assistant remained quiet, still looking a bit shocked. Well, if Santana was going to stick around, the woman was going to learn to lighten up even if it killed her.

"Anyway," Rachel finally said, once their laughter subsided. "There are two important things we must address while we have a window of time and opportunity to address them. First - " she lifted one of the shopping bags from where they rested on the floor at her feet. "I bought something for you to wear to the show tonight." Forestalling the expected protest, Rachel held up her other hand. "I won't hear a word against it, Santana. You're a part of my world now, and as such, that entails coming to see me in my element - the stage. I spend so much time there, it's almost more than a second home for me. So it's vitally important that you become familiar with it as quickly as you can - not only for my sake, but for yours, if you truly intend to become a dancer. Our choreographer, Dakota Stanley, is an obnoxious and repulsive little man, but he's the best in the business. _Unfortunately._ " She made a face to show her distaste for the behind the scenes dictator. "Come to the theater, impress him, and he can be a big help to you if you really want to be a dancer in this town."

She handed the bag to Santana, who accepted it open-mouthed, unable to think of anything to say, for once. She peered inside it, then gasped.

"Oh my God," she breathed. "It's _gorgeous!_ Rachel, this is too much. I - I _can't_ -"

"You _can_ , Santana. _Please._ For me." Rachel's tone was firm, yet pleading, the want mirrored in her eyes, her lips verging on what everyone else in Rachel's life knew to be a devastatingly effective pout.

Santana bowed her head; her shoulders slumped in defeat. How could she say no? She couldn't. So she simply said, "Thank you" instead.

Rachel clapped her hands, evidently pleased with herself, letting out a little _Yay!_ at Santana's acquiescence. _I guess I'm not the only one around here with charm to spare_ , Santana thought to herself. Somehow the thought didn't bother her at all.

"And now that we've settled that, Marley here has something she would like to say to you, Santana." She gestured for the assistant to step forward, as though she was a student about to present a book report to the class. "Marley, the floor is yours. Santana, please listen to what she has to say."

Marley twisted her hands in front of her, looking for all the world like a chastened schoolgirl, then dropped them and gave a little sigh. "Look, I'm really sorry that we caught each other - I caught you, more accurately - at such a bad time this morning. I didn't mean what I said, and I _certainly_ didn't mean for it to sound so rude, but I got nervous after I said it, and, well...I just I'm thinking we really got off on the wrong foot, so this is my apology to you, in the hope that we can start fresh."

It all came out rather quickly, and Santana had to listen hard to catch all of what Marley had said to her. She thought back for a moment. She hadn't exactly been too pleasant to be around this morning either, so they were both at fault, really. They'd both been shocked, caught off guard, and anyway, Santana knew better than to judge a book by its cover, or even its first page.

"I'm sorry, too." Santana was sincere. She really did want to get along with Marley, especially if she was actually going to be staying with Rachel - and she was really starting to get used to that idea. And unless she missed her guess, Rachel seemed to be enjoying the thought, too. "You're so right. We got off to a bad start this morning. Neither one of us were at our best. We were both a little startled. I'm sure we'll really enjoy each other's company, once we get to know each other a little better, you know?" She gave a small smile (that Rachel, watching the two of them intently, found absolutely adorable), and pushed a lock of thick black hair behind her ear.

"Thank you for accepting my apology," Marley said, her smile composed of equal parts relief and gratitude. Her body, so visibly tense while making her apology, now relaxed, the tension in her neck and shoulders draining away. She was actually very pretty, Santana thought, when she wasn't being so intense. Obviously Marley was very driven and very devoted to Rachel, and those were certainly admirable qualities; but they needed to be balanced by something else. Santana had learned from Brittany, her best friend back home, that watching people's facial expressions and body language was every bit as important as listening to what they said; often, it would tell you more about them than any words ever could. And what Marley's face and body were telling Santana was that she had no life outside of her job, and desperately needed to get one. Santana, for her part, was proud that she hadn't given in to her usual impulse to verbally shred the one who had wronged her, as she would have in the halls of McKinley High, back in Lima. But this wasn't Lima. This was the Big Apple, New York freakin' City. In this town, Santana reminded herself, it was definitely better to have friends than enemies - even if Marley _did_ look like Bambi had somehow come to life and taken human form, seemingly completely incapable of doing real harm to anybody or anything.

Marley stepped forward, extending her hand for Santana to shake with a small, still-apologetic smile. Santana returned the smile and shook the offered hand, and with that. the morning's incident was put firmly behind them, in the past where it belonged.

The sound of Rachel applauding broke the silence that had fallen upon the room, and they all laughed together, glad to have the matter fully addressed.

"Well, with _that_ drama firmly laid to rest, what do you say we all have some lunch? I have many of New York's finest restaurants on speed dial," Rachel suggested brightly, very pleased at the way things had gone so smoothly between her new friend and her trusted assistant. She stood there with her phone in hand, expectantly, waiting for a response.

"Um...I know we were just there and all, but could we go back to the diner? I'm just dying for a burger," Santana said, a suggestion that was met by two pairs of incredulous eyes staring at her. "What? A body _this_ hot _needs_ its protein." She gestured down at herself with a wicked smile. Rachel laughed, while Marley looked vaguely scandalized once again, looking away from Santana and down at the floor.

Santana gave herself a mental high-five at both reactions. This town wasn't going to change her completely, after all. She wouldn't let it.


	3. Chapter 3

**I'll Stand By You**

 _chapter three_

The dress made Santana feel like a Hollywood star about to stride down the red carpet. Although wearing something so fancy was completely out of her element, Rachel had not only managed to successfully guess her size, but also her sense of style. It was an elegant lavender dress that fell down to the floor. The neck had a diamond cut, exposing just the right amount of cleavage, and reconnected a little higher, at her collarbone. It was a perfect medium between sexy and classy, and Santana blushed to think that Rachel had actually picked it out for her. How had she known it would look this good on her? Santana shook her head. It was uncanny.

She stared at herself, in awe, in the full-length mirror of the guest bedroom before making her way to the bathroom to put the finishing touches her hair and makeup. Rachel had been at the theater for a while now, getting ready for the performance, and Santana knew that if she didn't pick up the pace she would end up being late to the show. That, needless to say, would be unacceptable. She touched up her lipstick and a light grey smoky eye before slipping on a pair of diamond earrings that Rachel had absolutely insisted she wear.

After a final. nervous glance at herself, she grabbed her purse and made her way out the door, locking it with the spare key Rachel had given her. It was incredible, Santana thought, the amount of trust that Rachel had put in her. But...why? Were there really people as kind hearted as Rachel out in the world, who thought so highly of people they only just met? Santana couldn't decide if it was sweet or naïve; but then she realized, in a blinding moment of self-awareness, that she was doing exactly the same thing with Rachel.

It was a short walk to the theater, and when Santana got there, she found herself laughing with excitement. The marquee was brightly lit, with Rachel's name in enormous letters right above the title of the show: _Funny Girl_. Santana felt a flock of nervous butterflies swarm in her stomach and swallowed hard, hoping the feeling would go away, but also kind of hoping it wouldn't.

Since she was running a little behind schedule, she found that there was quite a line to the ticket booth, to her dismay.

Rachel had left her ticket with Becky, the ticket booth attendant, along with strict instructions that Santana was not to be delayed in any way when she came to claim it. She walked around the roped-off line and directly up to the window, where the short, slightly pudgy blonde girl looked up at her with a squint behind her round glasses, holding up a finger for the customer she'd been helping to wait for just a moment.

"Can I help you?" Becky asked, clearly irritated by the interruption.

Santana fought down her own irritation at the attitude with which the ticket girl had addressed her. Instead, she smiled sweetly and replied pleasantly, "I'm Santana Lopez, a friend of Rachel Berry's. She left a ticket here for me."

"Hold on," Becky said, reaching across the counter inside the booth for a bunch of small envelopes, all of which obviously contained tickets left for cast members' personal guests. "Lopez...Lopez..." She shuffled through the envelopes, her tongue peeking out and resting at the corner of her upper lip. "Oh! _Lopez, Santana._ That's you." A smile spread across her face, as though she was rather proud of herself for locating the right envelope. "Just reach across - sorry, sir - to the window here, Ms. Lopez."

Santana did as she was asked, and an electric thrill jolted through her body as she snatched the envelope, quickly drawing her arm back as though the customer Becky had been helping might try to swipe it away from her. "Thanks," she said, stepping back from the window. "Thank you very much."

"Don't mention it," Becky said, turning her attention back to the customer who'd patiently waited while Santana retrieved her ticket. "Enjoy the show."

Feeling slightly giddy, Santana clutched the envelope to her chest for a moment, then walked through the theater doors, hardly able to believe that she was about to see her very first Broadway show, and that the actual star of the show had invited her to be there. It felt to her almost as if she had entered another world; the elegance of the theater, and the historic atmosphere it contained, was an intoxicating thing indeed; she felt fairly dizzy with anticipation. Suddenly a headset-wearing young man appeared at her side, saying "Excuse me" with an Irish accent, seemingly popping up out of nowhere. She jumped slightly when he gently tapped her on the forearm and spoke again.

"Excuse me, ma'am - sorry to startle you," he said, both his expression and tone sincerely apologetic. "You fit the description I was given by Miss Berry. Santana Lopez, am I correct?"

"Yes," Santana said, again clutching the envelope to her chest. Rachel had told her that a production assistant would find her upon her entrance to guide her to her seat; but in the excitement of the moment, she'd forgotten. "And you are...?"

He pointed to the name tag on his uniform vest. "I'm Rory, ma'am. I'm to take you to your seat, as Miss Berry instructed." His accent lent a whimsical music to his words. "She'd be very cross with me, she would, if I didn't do exactly as she asked. She can be a hard one, our Miss Berry, but we all love her just the same, we do."

"Well, she's the star, after all," Santana said absently, looking around, trying to commit to memory as much of this stunning place as possible.

"That she is, ma'am," agreed Rory, enthusiastically shaking his head up and down. "Now, if you'll come with me, right this way, I'll show you to your seat. It's the best in the house, as per Miss Berry's instructions, it is. You're going t' love it." He offered her his arm. "And if I may say so, ma'am, you look very beautiful this evening. You'll surely be quite the distraction f'r our star this evening."

Santana took the offered arm, smiling radiantly. "Lead on," she said.

She found the idea that she would be the center of Rachel's attention tonight to be quite intriguing, although of course she didn't want to distract her so much that it messed up her show or anything.

 _Listen to you, Lopez. Nice ego._ Santana caught herself, realizing she was being a tad narcissistic. _As if you could distract a professional like Rachel Berry. Besides, she knows what she's doing. She does it every night. If the Keebler elf is right and you_ are _a bit of a distraction, it won't be enough to throw her off or anything_.

(She hoped that would be the case, anyway.)

Once Rory got her to her seat, she beamed up at him, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of being pampered. "Thank you so much," she said, as he kissed the back of her hand politely.

"You are so very welcome, Miss Lopez. I do hope you enjoy the show. Miss Berry is in an _amazing_ mood tonight."

He left her to wait until curtain, presumably heading back towards Rachel's dressing room. Santana sat in her seat and glanced around anxiously at the number of people and the beauty of the theater. The architecture was absolutely stunning. Santana was certain that she would pay to just sit there and stare at the walls; the fact that she was actually seeing a show on the stage was a huge bonus. She thought about Rory's last comment and momentarily wondered if Rachel wasn't always in a good mood, the way he'd said that, and the way he'd also mentioned that "she can be a hard one," whatever that meant. To Santana, the young starlet had never been anything but graciously accommodating. Maybe there was another side to her when she was in her natural element. It was possible, she mused, that Rachel could be a little bit of a diva behind the scenes; it wouldn't really be all that surprising, given the remarkably young age at which Rachel had achieved success in the difficult theater world. She pushed the thought away as more people crowded into the theater and the clock ticked down to show time.

* * *

From the moment the house lights went down, the crowd quickly hushed, and the curtain opened, Santana's attention was instantly transfixed upon the stage. From that moment until the intermission, she felt a whirlwind of emotions whip up inside her as the show carried her off into the world that existed there. It was absolutely magical. Santana had never been so enraptured by anything in her entire life. It was the most thrilling and exhilarating thing she had ever experienced, and when Rory reappeared at her side to gently guide her backstage, Santana found that she actually needed a few minutes to catch her breath even as they walked.

"Enjoying the show, are you? I'm glad. Miss Berry's asked t' see you, so we're goin' to her dressin' room now. Mind, you've only got a couple o' minutes with her - but believe me, there are quite a few others in here who'd kill for those few moments, so best make 'em count."

"We're going to Rachel's dressing room?" Santana was a little taken aback. She'd been so mesmerized by Rachel's performance that she wasn't sure if she could actually speak to her without sounding like a gushing fangirl. It really had been a whole other experience to hear her sing live on stage, and to say that she felt overwhelmed would be a major understatement. "Is...is that really a good idea? Doesn't she need to, like, change costumes or get a drink or something?"

Rory chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "Miss Berry wants t' see you, and around here, what Miss Berry wants, she gets. She'd have my head, she would, if I didn't bring you along. Now come on, she's waitin'." He tugged at Santana's arm, and they made their way at a brisk pace to the door marked with a large gold star on which the words **RACHEL BERRY** had been painted in bold black letters. He nodded to Santana, who felt that swarm of butterflies she'd felt in her stomach earlier make a frenzied return. "In with you, now. Y'got about five minutes or so. I'll be right here to bring you back t' your seat when you're done."

The production assistant smartly rapped his knuckles against the door. "Miss Berry?" he called. "Miss Lopez is here, as requested."

Rachel swung the door open almost immediately and quite enthusiastically dragged Santana inside. "Thank you so much, Rory, she'll be out in a few."

"Of course, Miss Berry," he nodded, giving them both a charming little smile, and the door was quickly shut behind Santana. Her reaction time was a little slowed, as she was trying her best to take in everything around her. She wanted to commit it all to memory, unsure as to when the next time she would ever be able to do something so grand would be.

"Rachel...wow! You were incredible up there!" Santana was trying not to gush, but did so anyway, internally cringing over the way she sounded, but unable to stop herself. "I can't even begin to...where did that...I mean..." she was at a loss for words.

Rachel gave a little giggle and her cheeks flushed lightly. "Well, I don't know about all of that," she said modestly, but her tone implied that she did indeed know just how talented she was. "But thank you so much. I'm so happy you're enjoying the show. You don't think my rendition of _I'm the Greatest Star_ was too much tonight? I know I got a little carried away at some point."

Santana shook her head _no,_ almost faster than Rachel could get her question out. "No, no! Everything was perfect!"

Rachel gave a small smile, almost a shy one. "Well, this is your first time seeing the show, too." Again, she was acting modest, and Santana felt like she could've smacked her silly for it.

" _Stop that_. You're _amazing_ , and you know it. The whole _show_ is amazing. _Look_ at you!" She gestured toward Rachel's elaborate outfit, and the starlet let out a giddy laugh as she twirled around to let Santana see the entire thing. "The costumes, and the sets, and the music...it's everything I ever imagined it would be, and more. And this place...! It's _incredible_. Everything about it is incredible." She paused as a thought hit her, and another one of those annoying pangs of guilt knifed through her chest. "My friends back home - I wish they could see this, too."

Rachel's expression changed from one of happy exuberance to a look of thoughtful seriousness. "Oh, Santana." She took Santana's hands in her own, squeezing them lightly. "I wish they could, too." Then the light of an idea kindled in her eyes, and the smile returned. "Tell you what. After the show, I'll have Rory break out his video camera and we'll record a special message for your friends. We'll take a little tour of the the theater, the backstage area, everything. We'll burn it to a DVD, and you can express mail it tomorrow. How does that sound?"

Santana wanted nothing more than to wrap Rachel in a fierce hug at that moment, but knew she couldn't do it without messing up her costume and makeup. She'd just have to settle for squeezing the starlet's hands as she fought back her tears. Her throat constricted anyway, and her voice was thick with emotion when she was able to speak again. "That...wow. That would be great. I...I don't even know what to say, Rachel."

"Say 'break a leg.'"

"What?"

"It's how we say 'good luck' in the theater." She pointed to the small clock on her dressing room table. "I have to go back out there soon. Rory will bring you here, and then we'll make the video."

Santana nodded. "Break a leg, then." The air in the room changed in that moment. Something like an electric current charged the atmosphere as they stared into each other's eyes, sending shivers up both their spines, each woman feeling as though the breath was caught in their lungs. Neither of them wanted to go, but they knew that their time was nearly up.

Rory's voice came through the door, accompanied by a brisk knock. "Miss Berry? Pardon the interruption, but it's just about time for hair n' makeup t' get their hands on you before the second act starts."

"Thank you, Rory," Rachel responded, as she somehow finally managed to turn her eyes away from Santana's. "Please make sure that Santana - er, Miss Lopez - gets back to her seat safely."

"Of course, Miss Berry." He opened the door, and Santana could see the hurrying hustle-bustle of activity going on outside the safe haven of Rachel's dressing room, heard the sound of the orchestra tuning up.

Santana let Rachel's hands drop. "I - I'll see you out there." The starlet smiled at her words. "Oh, and - knock 'em dead. That's another thing they say in the theater, isn't it?"

Rachel laughed as Santana stepped past her to stand next to Rory once again. The starlet followed her out as another production assistant hurried over to take her to hair and makeup. "Yes. Yes, it is," she said, still chuckling, as the woman hustled her off.

Rory offered Santana his arm as he had before, and Santana took it with a sigh. "She's quite something, isn't she?" Rory asked, although he already knew the answer; it was there in Santana's eyes.

 _Quite something._

That was one way to describe Rachel Berry, wasn't it? Santana thought that was about right. She was, indeed, quite something.

* * *

Act Two was every bit as magnificent as the first act, and as Rachel belted out _Who Are You Now_ with tears streaking down her face, Santana felt her own eyes well up a little bit too (not that she would ever admit that out loud). Never before had a performance motivated Santana so much to pursue her career as a dancer, a performance artist. Never before had a single person made her feel so much emotion, merely by singing a song. Rachel Berry possessed an extraordinary gift - a true gift of passionate storytelling. It was truly inspiring how dedicated Rachel was to her work.

Santana wiped a tear from the corner of her eye as the final chord struck, and stood up to add to Rachel's staggering round of applause, even whistling loudly (ignoring the momentary look of disapproval she got for that from the older couple who'd been seated next to her). When Rory came to get her to take her backstage once more, Santana was practically shaking with adrenaline. She would have to put seeing Broadway shows at the top of her priority list, now that she was planning to stay in the city. The feeling she had...you must only be able to get after watching a performance on stage. It was absolutely addicting, and she wanted more.

Nothing she'd ever experienced before had affected her in this way. Not even the rush of exhilaration that came with winning cheerleading competitions quite compared with what she was feeling now. Seeing something like this, feeling the complex web of emotion being spun between the performers on stage and the audience in their seats...it was magical. That was the only word Santana could think of to describe it. And now that she'd experienced it from the crowd's perspective, she wondered what it would be like to be the enchantress, the one casting the spell, rather than the enchanted.

"Most people are a bit dazed after they've seen their first show," Rory commented, bringing Santana out of the haze of her thoughts. "It's a pretty grand experience. Even more so when you're watchin' a true star being born, like you did tonight. Oh, our Miss Berry, she's just gettin' started. Just you watch and see." He grinned impishly, and Santana could only nod and smile back in agreement. He was right. There was no doubt about it: Rachel _was_ a true star. The sky was the limit for her.

And by the time they arrived at Rachel's dressing room door once again, Santana found herself vowing to follow her new friend's path, wherever it might lead. Sure, she'd have to work really hard, but Santana had never been afraid of that. She'd worked hard at getting good grades in school, at being part of an award-winning cheerleading squad, at her dance classes. And clearly, Rachel had been brave enough, focused enough and determined enough - in addition to being more than talented enough - to make her dream happen.

 _If she could do it,_ Santana thought, _I can too._

"Well, here we are. It's been a pleasure and an honor to be assisting you this evening, Miss Lopez." Rory sketched a bow, prompting Santana to roll her eyes. "And now I must attend to a few other things - not the least of which is making sure my video camera has a properly charged battery, eh?" He winked at her, and she laughed.

"Thanks, Rory," Santana beamed, feeling as though she was on cloud nine, as the production assistant took her hand and kissed it lightly once again. "I've had a really great time tonight."

"Good thing it's not over yet, then, hey?" he replied. Then, with a wink, he was off to who knew where, leaving Santana to knock on the dressing room door herself this time.

While she waited for Rachel to answer, she thought about what the star had said to her earlier, about express mailing her friends the DVD guided tour of the theater. At the time. she'd thought it would be an amazing idea, and she would still really love to be able to do it - but that would mean they would find out where she was, and she wasn't entirely sure she was ready for that. After all, she'd only been gone a few days, and she'd left without warning, without so much as a goodbye. If she was lucky, there weren't any search warrants out for her yet, but she was positive that if they figured out her location - especially if they disclosed that information to her _abuela –_ and suddenly she was afraid that her new and beautiful world of magic could be taken away from her as quickly as it had been discovered.

Her heart started to race just thinking about it as she remembered that this entire plan of hers hadn't exactly been well thought-out. Hell, she'd been lying to Rachel about her reasoning for being here, so it wasn't as if she could explain all of this to her. The thought made her feel slightly sick; the euphoria of the show quickly drained away. Rachel had already put so much trust in her...was she really going to just throw all of that away? Would Rachel still be so willing to help her, to be her friend, if she found out that Santana had lied?

 _You've really done it this time, Lopez._ Santana worried, feeling defeated. _What are you going to do if the police come looking for you? Or if your picture shows up on the news? Shit._

But...her friends wouldn't really turn her in, would they? Quinn and Brittany would understand, right? They'd understand why she'd left the way she had, why she was in New York, all of it. Sometimes you just had to trust people. That had always been a hard thing for her to do, having to hide who she was from her abuela for all that time, and then dealing with the aftermath once she'd been outed. If she couldn't trust her own grandmother to love and accept her unconditionally, how could she trust anyone? Yet her friends had always been worthy of her trust, always guarded her secrets as if they were their own.

She was so lost in thought that she didn't even notice when Rachel opened the door.

* * *

" _Santana._ You've been standing there for nearly two full minutes," Rachel chided gently, the lightness of her tone belying her worry about the lost-looking young woman still outside her dressing room door. She knew the look on Santana's face. She'd seen it on her own, once upon a time: the look of worry that accompanies the fear of a secret being revealed. "Please, come in."

Santana blinked, unsure of herself, of her surroundings - of anything, really. Then she saw the look of concern on Rachel's face, and Santana knew she had to tell her everything. She stepped into the small but well-appointed room, and Rachel closed the door behind her. She sighed as she heard it click shut, hugging herself as though a chill had entered the room along with her.

"Santana, sweetie, you look like you've seen a ghost," Rachel's tone was light, considerate, and careful. "Is everything okay? Did someone upset you, or bother you in any way? Because I can make sure they never do it again-"

Santana's shy smile cut her off. It was so sweet of Rachel to want to stick up for her like that. Would she still want to, after hearing what Santana had to say? "That's not necessary, Rachel, but thank you. No one has said or done anything to me...it's..." She took a deep breath and spit out the words before she could give herself a chance to go back on them, knowing that the longer she kept this inside, the more it would hurt Rachel once she found out the truth. "It's something I've done."

Rachel's eyes widened and she double blinked in shock. "I'm sure it's nothing that can't be fixed," she insisted, pulling Santana into a hug and sitting them both down on the large, plush couch in the corner of the dressing room. "Whatever it is, Santana, we can figure out a solution together, okay?"

Santana shook her head sadly. "You're not going to want to help me anymore. You probably won't even want to _speak_ to me anymore. Honestly, I wouldn't even blame you if you threw me out on the street as soon as you found out the truth. I probably deserve that, anyway."

Wordlessly, Rachel took off her _Funny Girl_ wig and set it on the table in front of them. She pulled the pins out of her hair and let it flow naturally down her shoulders. Reaching for the makeup wipes on the side table next to them, she carefully wiped her face off, and tossed the wipe in the paper basket across the room. Santana watched the other woman curiously. Once she was finished removing her stage makeup, Rachel stood and stripped her costume off of her body, leaving her in a black tank top and skin-tight black shorts. Finally, she sat back down and took Santana's hands in her own.

"I don't _ever_ want you to be afraid to tell me _anything_ , Santana. I am not above you, okay? I'm not _Rachel Berry, the Broadway star_ , right now. I'm just Rachel. Just an average girl who went through most of high school being bullied and hated. Cast out. Different. There was a time when I thought no one would ever be able to understand me...but I have a feeling that _you_ would. I'm here to listen, without judgment, whenever you're ready to talk to me, all right? I just - I need you to realize that I'm no different than you, and I'm really not as intimidating as I come off to people. That's just...a mask." Rachel stopped to take a breath, as she was famous for speaking in long phrases and forgetting to pause. "So please, tell me what's happened. Maybe we can fix it, maybe we can't. But we'll never know until we try, so...let's just see what we can do, okay?"

Santana wiped furiously at her eyes; she hated crying, especially in front of others. She'd always felt that it showed a certain weakness, a kind of vulnerability that would make it easy for others to hurt her the way her _abuela_ had. Hurt so deeply she felt as though a part of her was always crying, on the inside, locked away where no one could see. More and more, though, since she'd run away, that place inside her was rising to the surface, bringing the damned tears to her eyes again and again.

Santana felt Rachel's grip on her hands to be quite soothing. She was grateful for the contact, for the warmth; her heart felt cold. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying desperately to focus her thoughts, to put her words into some coherent order. "I'm so sorry, Rachel. I - I lied to you when I said I was taking a year off to travel between graduation and college. The truth is -" she nearly choked on the next words, but they had to be said. Rachel deserved to hear it now, before things got worse, before the guilt she carried caused her to lash out and say other things, worse things. Things she'd regret. "I ran away from home." She felt the stinging of fresh tears, wiped them away again. "My _abuela_ \- my grandmother - she...she disapproved of me. Like, _seriously_ disapproved. Because..." Her throat tightened, again threatening to keep the words locked away. Memories beat at her like wings, floated in her mind's eye like ghosts. She squeezed involuntarily at Rachel's hands, trying to draw strength from them.

"Because I love girls the way she thought I should love boys."

And with that, the dam against everything she'd been trying so hard not to feel since that awful, fateful last confrontation with her _abuela_ had sent her out into the night, away from Lima, away from everything she'd ever known and loved, broke. Her emotions spilled forth, a river of tears flooding from the corners of her eyes, spilling down her face. She was tired, so tired of being strong, and now she just wanted to be placed at Rachel's mercy, ready to take the judgment, the condemnation for having had the temerity to repay the starlet's kindness with a lie.

"Oh, Santana."

Rachel pulled Santana into a tight hug, holding her close while she cried on her shoulder. "I'm not upset with you, okay? I need you to know that. I understand why you weren't honest when we first met, I really do. It's okay." Santana gripped the older woman tightly, feeling slightly foolish at being so emotional, but the comfort of being in Rachel's arms was worth it.

"You _should_ be upset with me," Santana protested, not because she really _wanted_ the other woman to be, but because she couldn't understand why Rachel _wasn't_. "You've been so damned _nice_ to me, and I _lied_ to you."

"Oh, come on, Santana. We had only just met - and besides, you're telling me _now_ , aren't you?" Rachel was so easily forgiving, which almost made Santana feel worse. She didn't feel like she deserved that kindness. Besides, what had _she_ ever done for Rachel?

"Well, yes, but..." Santana pulled out of the hug with a sniff. "But...you're _really_ not mad?"

"Of course not," Rachel handed Santana a box of tissues and pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear, as her tears were making it stick to her face. "I'm not mad at all. As I said, we'd just met. I didn't expect to you to spill all of your secrets right off the bat. You were trying to protect yourself, and that's why you lied about why you were in New York." She paused, fixed Santana with a penetrating look. "I assume that's the _only_ thing you haven't been honest about, right?"

Santana nodded softly as she wiped at her eyes and nose with a tissue, feeling vaguely like a child who's somehow avoided being put in time-out after misbehaving – still guilty, but relieved.

"Good," Rachel said firmly, wiping away the tracks of Santana's tears from her beautiful face with another tissue. Looking her now, Rachel saw everything that Santana had been hiding from her, and how much the effort of doing so had cost her. "Consider the slate clean."

Santana nodded again, too overwhelmed with emotion to speak. Her limbs felt heavy, but her heart felt light for the first time since she'd left Lima. Her pastor back at the church in Lima had always droned on about how "confession is good for the soul," but never had it felt as good as it did right now, with Rachel rubbing soft, slow, soothing circles on her back with one hand and stroking her hair with the other.

They sat for a few moments in silence, and then Rachel let out a long, low sigh. Santana looked at her, already knowing this to be the signal that Rachel was about to say something very serious.

"I know it's not my place to say this, but...for what it's worth, I think your grandmother is terribly wrong, and very short-sighted. She looks at you and all she sees is one thing, a thing that's only one part of you. She lets that one thing blind her to all the other wonderful, amazing things you are, simply because she doesn't understand it. And because she doesn't understand it, she feels uncomfortable and afraid. So much so that she's allowed that fear to cost her something precious, something irreplaceable - _you_."

Sniffling, Santana shook her head. "I tried to tell her, I'm still the same girl I was before you found out that I'm gay - why can't you love me the same now as you did then? But she just shook her head, told me I was sick, lost in sin. She even said that she was going to put me in one of those 'pray away the gay' camps, and then - only then - could she love me again. Only when I was free from whatever devil had affected me, made me so... _abnormal._ " She bit off the last word with disgust, feeling her insides coil with anger at her _abuela_ 's betrayal. "I told her that _hating your own grandchild_ is what's _abnormal_ , and then...then I left. Not before the old bitch took my cell phone away, though."

"My God, Santana," Rachel breathed. Her heart was breaking for this poor girl. Having been raised by a pair of gay men who loved her fiercely, Rachel could not even begin to imagine what that kind of profound rejection must feel like. "I'm so sorry. Where...where were your parents in the middle of all this? Why didn't they try to stop you from leaving?"

"They weren't home. That's part of the problem. They're great parents, and I know they love me, but...they go away on business a lot, and then it's just me and my abuela...and that's when everything goes bad." Santana sighed in frustration. "They try to keep the peace between us as best they can, when they're home, but...I just couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't take what the endless war between us was doing to me, what it was doing to my parents. The stress...it was just too much. So I said, you know what? Screw this. I'm eighteen - I don't _have_ to take this crap anymore. I can just leave. So that's what I did."

"That was very brave of you, Santana," Rachel said. "Perhaps..." She paused, choosing her words carefully, not wanting to offend the already distraught girl. She wanted to admonish her for being foolish, for being impulsive, for doing something that could very well have gotten her _killed_ , but instead she finished by saying simply, "...not the most well thought out course of action, but a brave one nonetheless."

Santana had to chuckle at that. "Yeah, maybe not," she agreed with a rueful smile.

Rachel stood, bringing Santana to her feet as well. "And now I realize that maybe making that video might not be the best idea. You're probably not exactly eager for your grandmother to have any chance at finding out where you are. I imagine that she, and your parents, might have already filed a missing persons report."

Santana considered this, blinking. "Yeah, probably. Like I said, my parents...they love me." She felt a wave of fear building inside her, clutching at her heart with a cold, spiky fist, and savagely forced it down. She turned away, unable to meet Rachel's probing eyes. "They probably want me to come back, but I...I _can't,_ Rachel. I just can't. Not yet. Maybe not ever."

Rachel sensed that Santana was getting worked up again, and spoke to her slowly and calmly, still not wanting to cause further upset. "That's completely understandable, but don't you think it might be a good idea to at least _call_ them and let them know that you're safe? That way the police, if they've been contacted, don't stay involved, and your parents don't have to keep being worried sick about you."

Again, Santana paused to consider what Rachel was saying. That would be the smart thing to do, the most logical answer. Then another thought struck her. "What if they trace the call back to New York?"

Rachel shrugged. "You tell them you're in New York." Santana was confused. Rachel had just admitted the video wasn't a good idea in case her _abuela_ found out where she was, and now she was advising her to tell her parents exactly where she was?

"Won't they come looking for me?" Santana's fear resurfaced, and Rachel gave a soft little sigh of understanding.

"I'll hire security. Well, _extra_ security," Rachel amended. The gears in her mind began to spin. "The bottom line is, you're _eighteen_ , Santana. No one can compel you to do anything you don't want to do, and that includes returning to a home that presents a clearly unhealthy living environment for you. I won't let that happen. I'm not going to let _anything_ happen to you." She paused as another thought came to her. "Oh, and I have a _great_ lawyer. I'll introduce you to her - Shannon Bieste. You'll love her. She's amazing."

Santana's eyes widened as her jaw dropped. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. But the determined expression on the diminutive star's face told her just how serious she was. "You - you would do all that...for _me?_ For someone you just met, someone you still barely know?"

"Of course I would." Rachel's expression softened. She brought a hand up to touch Santana's face, smiling gently when Santana covered it with one of her own. "You're my friend. I don't have many, but the ones I _do_ have...well, I'd do just about anything for them. Short of, you know, robbing a bank, or putting out a contract on someone."

Santana laughed in spite of herself. "How do you do that?"

"How do I do what?"

"How do you make me laugh, when all I want to do is find a hole somewhere and crawl right into it? How do you make me feel safe, when I'm absolutely fucking _terrified_ that someone, or something, is gonna drag my ass right back to where I was before?"

Swirling chocolate brown orbs looked directly into Santana's own dark eyes. Rachel's hand felt warm, so very warm on Santana's cheek. Then a dazzlingly bright smile spread across the starlet's face, and Santana felt something stir in her chest. Something that, for once, wasn't fear, or worry. Something that felt like... _hope_. And something else. Something more, something for which she had no name just yet.

"It's a gift," Rachel said as she brought her face close to Santana's, her breath ghosting across the shell of her ear, her lips just barely brushing the skin next to it. Santana felt a shiver run down her spine, and a low warmth blooming up and out from her lower abdomen, as though the butterflies that had been sleeping there had suddenly been awakened by first one candle, then ten, and then a thousand, being lit inside her.

Her mouth went suddenly dry, and all Santana could say, in a barely audible, husky whisper, was, "It sure is."

Rachel giggled lightly at Santana's response, and Santana blinked, feeling vaguely embarrassed, but not really. In that moment, nothing really mattered to her except the woman standing in front of her. The woman, she realized, who had probably saved her life.

"Come on," Rachel said. "Let me get back into my regular clothes, and then we'll get out of here."

"Um, yeah. Sure," Santana felt more than a little dazed from all that had happened. Suddenly she felt very tired. "Rachel...thanks. For everything. I mean it."

"I know," the starlet replied as she slipped into a pair of snug fittlng black jeans. She pulled a loose black sweater over her head, and finally settled her feet into a pair of white sneakers, sighing at the comfort they gave her aching feet. "And you're welcome." She opened the door, saw Rory jogging up to the room with his video camera in hand. "Change of plans," she told him. "Santana's feeling...a little overwhelmed, and I feel it's best for us to call it a night. Please call the driver to bring the car around, and then go outside and hand out autographed pictures to all my fans. Will you do that for me, Rory?"

"Anything for you, Miss Berry," the young man said. "It was nice meeting you, Miss Lopez. I hope we'll see you here again soon."

"Thank you, Rory." Rachel closed the door. "It will just take a few minutes for the driver to get here."

A thought struck Santana, and she smiled. "I've never been in a limousine before."

"Well, this _is_ a night for firsts," Rachel cracked wryly. Santana looked at her, surprised by Rachel's dry wit, and they both laughed. It seemed she still had things to learn about Rachel, and she was looking forward to each and every one of them.

* * *

 **Thank you all so much for the warm response you've given this story so far. We can't even begin to tell you how gratifying it is to receive such a positive reception. Please feel free to review, and to send along your thoughts to me or my co-author. We'd love to hear from you! And stay tuned for more Pezberry goodness, because there's more to come.**


	4. Chapter 4

**I'll Stand By You**

 _chapter four_

After about a week of living together in the same apartment, Santana and Rachel started to learn the little things about each other - the small details that made each girl tick. Santana couldn't function without coffee in the morning, for example, and Rachel couldn't speak without her honey and lemon water. Santana refused to wake up before eight in the morning, and seven thirty was sleeping in for Rachel (it helped that she usually had early morning rehearsals at the theatre, but even when she didn't, she rose when the sun did each day). Each day, Santana continued to look for a job, unbeknownst to Rachel, and Rachel continued to work at hers. Although Rachel was often gone for most of the day, Santana found ways to keep herself busy. Rachel allowed her to use her laptop (it was strangely touching, though not surprising in the least, that Rachel's password was "glee") and make herself as comfortable and as at home as possible, which was vital in her search for work, as well as her developing plan.

She still wasn't sure what she wanted to do with her life in New York. Before she'd run away, it really wasn't something she'd given a lot of thought too. She'd always put been focused on graduating from high school first, and no one had really advised her otherwise. Now she felt trapped. Of course, she wanted to dance. She knew she wanted to go to college, too. To organize her thoughts and goals a little more, she found a pen and paper and started to write her own list.

In no particular order:

 _Think of What You Want to Do_ _  
_ _Get a Job_ _  
_ _Go to College_ _  
_ _Find a Hobby_ _  
_ _Make Some Friends_

It seemed to be a good-looking list so far, to her. But there was one glaring omission: contacting her friends and family to let them know she was all right. She knew deep down that Rachel was right – the sooner she let them know she was okay, the sooner any police searches would be dropped, and the sooner her family would feel better about her leaving. It wasn't fair to keep them guessing like this, but she just didn't know where to start.

So...she didn't.

But as the days wore on, the guilt began to eat at Santana. No matter how she tried to distract herself, push away the thoughts of her _mami_ and _papi_ , of Quinn and Brittany and everyone else in Lima, their faces kept appearing in her mind. The idea of all those people being frantic with worry for her, despondent at the thought of never seeing or hearing from her again, gnawed at her heart and soul. Rachel, for her part, was too polite to push the subject, but Santana knew that Rachel wanted her to contact _someone_ in Lima, be it a friend or family member, and sooner rather than later. It was the right thing to do - she just had to _make_ herself do it.

It was when she found the pictures in her wallet that she finally broke. She'd been absently reorganizing the contents of her purse, once again trying to distract herself, when her hand closed around the wallet. She pulled it out and sat staring for a while, knowing what was held inside it. More than the college fund money that her _abuela_ had withdrawn from the bank - she'd flung the plain white envelope filled with cash while simultaneously shouting in her face for her to go, to leave the house where she'd lived all her life and never come back. She hadn't needed to touch that money since she'd arrived in New York thanks to Rachel. Kind, giving, caring Rachel, who'd opened her home to a stranger without a second thought. Santana shuddered at the thought of where she might be, what her life might be like at this very moment, if that fateful chance meeting hadn't taken place.

Even more important than the money (and, to Santana, nearly as valuable) was the memories the wallet contained, happy moments captured to look at and relive again and again. Pictures of herself with her _mami_ and _papi_ , with Brittany and Quinn, separately and together, with the Cheerios, other friends. Trembling, she opened the wallet and spread out the pictures on the space next to her. For what seemed like an hour at least, Santana just stared at them, these tiny documents of the life she'd been forced to abandon. She tossed the wallet aside, the pictures flying all over, scattering when it landed. All she could do was hold her face in her hands as she cried the angriest, most bitter tears she'd cried yet.

 _I have to call them_ , she chastised herself. _I_ _know I do_. _How would I feel if Quinn or Brittany had done to me what I've just done to them? How would I ever forgive either one of them?_

Then her thoughts took a different turn.

 _But I don't really need their forgiveness. It would be amazing to get that, of course, but I'm not going back to Lima. At least, not anytime real soon. What I need from them, more than anything else, is understanding. They need to understand that New York is my home now, and whether they forgive me or not, that's my truth. But before that can happen, I need to let everybody know that I'm safe, so they don't have to worry or panic anymore. I can't be so selfish here._

Of course she knew that was exactly what she was doing, being selfish. The only reason she hadn't yet contacted, honestly, them was fear. She was afraid that they would try to get her to go back to Lima, and she wasn't sure she was strong enough to tell them _no_ if they begged her, whether they could legally force her to return or not.

With shaking hands, she pulled her head up from its resting place and wiped the tears off her face. She reached out for the cell phone sitting on the coffee table and held it for a moment in contemplation. What the hell was she even supposed to say to whoever she decided to call, whoever answered?

Could she really handle talking to Quinn or Mercedes right now, knowing how hurt and angry they must be? Could she actually deal with Brittany being all sad and bewildered, as she knew her best friend undoubtedly was? _And God, that's without even mentioning Mom and Dad._ Guilt and fear warred within her, and she almost wanted to scream with frustration. This was almost harder than running away had been.

Rachel had bought this phone and put it on her unlimited plan just for this purpose, she knew. It was her subtle, gentle way of prodding Santana to do what she'd been fighting so hard _not_ to do. They'd had a couple of brief arguments over it, each little skirmish ending with Rachel throwing her hands up in surrender and backing off almost immediately. Santana felt a little badly about that - but her instinct had always been to fight, to insist on her right to do what she wanted, even if no one else understood why, and even here in New York it was proving to be a hard habit to break. While their relationship had been growing deeper by the day, and Santana's sharp edges were slowly but surely wearing down, both of them knew it was still a very fragile thing. Santana was still finding it hard to believe that someone as kind, decent and generous as Rachel actually existed, and Rachel knew it, which made her reluctant to push her young house guest too hard, for fear that she would just up and run away again - and _then_ what would become of her?

But Santana couldn't handle the guilt, and the stress it brought, any longer. It was keeping her up at night, tossing and turning, often waking up from dreams about her family and friends a shaking, sobbing, exhausted mess. She had to contact _someone_ , or the guilt would surely drive her insane. Her hands trembled as she picked the brand-new iPhone up off the table and swiped to unlock it, smiling at the photo of herself and Rachel that the starlet had put up as wallpaper. A moment later, she was on the _New Text Message_ screen. She tapped in a number and her heartbeat grew faster with every click of her fingernail on the screen as she typed out a short and simple text message.

 _Mami - I'm sorry I didn't get in touch sooner. I'm sure you and papi have been worried sick - but I want you to know that I'm OK. I'm safe, I'm healthy, and I've found a really great friend who's been helping me since I got to where I am. Please don't worry about me anymore. This is my life now. I'm happy. Please let Quinn and Britt and the rest of my friends know, and give them this number if they want to write or call. I love you and papi so much. I'm so sorry to have worried you like this. - Santana_

She bit her lip as her finger hovered over the 'send' icon, afraid of whatever fallout her message might cause. Yet she knew it was the right thing to do, and something she should have done a lot sooner. An image of Rachel smiling and nodding in approval flashed in her mind, and with that, she tapped the screen one more time.

 _There. It's done._

She let out a huge sigh, feeling as though a massive weight had just been lifted from her heart. It was like she could finally breathe normally again, for the first time since the night she'd stormed out of her parents' house in Lima. Whatever happened next wasn't in her control, and that worried her - but she would just have to face the consequences, whether it was the wrath of her friends or her parents' disappointment, or both.

Santana's palms were sweaty as she set the phone back down, wondering if she was going to get an answer right away...or if she would even get an answer at all. Feeling edgy and restless now, she decided to get back on the laptop and distract herself by continuing her job search. The most important consideration for her was _location_. Somewhere relatively close would be ideal, obviously - that way she could walk to work, which meant she wouldn't need to figure out how the subways worked. Her fingers typed on the keys and her eyes scanned the screen without much focus. After about half an hour of annoying herself - she kept having to re-read pages because she didn't pay close enough attention the first time - she was just about ready to give up for a little while and start again later.

Santana found herself glancing down at the iPhone about every ten seconds in anticipation of receiving an answer, but she didn't think it was very likely to happen, especially not right away. She felt yet another pang in her heart. If her parents were really so worried about her, wouldn't they have written back or tried to call already? They'd probably be upset that she'd chosen to text rather than call, as well, but she hadn't trusted her voice not to betray her if she'd called.

Feeling frustrated and more than a little anxious, she turned her attention back to the laptop and found a page for the diner that where she and Rachel had gone on the night they'd met. They were hiring another daytime waitress! Santana excitedly clicked on the link to read through the job description and information. That would be _perfect_. As Rachel had said, everyone had to start somewhere, and although back in Lima she wouldn't have been caught dead waitressing, New York was a whole different ball game. She was running out of other options, quite frankly, and the diner was so close to Rachel's apartment...

She read through the online application several times, the cursor circling the "submit" button on the screen. Suddenly, she felt uncertain about turning it in. Would it be weird for Rachel if she were to work there? It _was_ her favorite diner after all, and her friends worked there. Maybe it would be best to ask Rachel about it before just applying.

But no. This was _her_ life, after all, wasn't it? Why should she have to ask Rachel's permission to apply for a job, especially at a place where she was friends with everybody anyway? She was being silly. Rachel had been nothing but positive and encouraging from the second they'd met, and Santana could find no reason to believe that would change just because she put on a red uniform and served food and drinks.

Having made up her mind, she clicked "submit," then sent an e-mail that served as a cover letter explaining who she was and why she thought she would be a valuable addition to the staff of "Puck's Broadway Diner." Feeling pretty good about herself and the decision she'd just made, she sprang up from the couch with a sense of optimism and purpose - and then the cell phone buzzed, alerting her to the arrival of a new text message.

Santana froze in place at the sound. Could it really be -

 _Mami?_

* * *

Slowly, she sat back down and picked up the device. Her eyes prickled and stung with fresh, hot tears as she read the message.

 _Santana - Your papi and I are so happy and relieved to know that you're alive and safe. You cannot possibly know what it's like to worry like this until you have a child of your own someday, and I hope you never, ever have to feel what we've felt since the night you ran away without a warning or an explanation. Yes, we knew that things were bad between you and your abuela, but we had hoped that some family counseling might help. You chose another way, and although we cannot say approve of that choice, we are still glad you're all right. I'm assuming that the number from which you sent your message belongs to the friend you mentioned. Please let your friend know how much we appreciate what they've done for you, which must include the phone you're using, since we know your abuela took your phone - and yes, we've had words with her over that and everything else, believe me. We love you and want you to come home, but we know we can't force you to do that. You're 18 and that makes you an adult, legally. We hope, at least, that you will consider visiting after you've had some time to get over what happened between_ _you and your abuela, and we promise that if you do visit, you won't have to see or speak to her. Please call us soon - a text message is nice, but your father and I really need to hear your voice to be sure you're all right. - Love, Mami_

Santana dropped the phone to the cushion beside her. Not since the night she'd left had she truly taken the time to realize how the choice she'd made had affected her parents, her friends, everyone she'd left behind. Suddenly she felt their pain as much as her own, and it was nothing less than devastating. How many tears had they shed over her? How much sleep had they lost, wondering where she was, what had happened to her, if she was alive or dead? How much fear and sadness and anger had they felt in the days and nights since she'd disappeared? Nothing could ever really make up for what she had done, she knew that, but she swore by everything that was right and good in the world that she would do as much as she could, whatever it might take, to somehow set things right one day between herself and the people she'd hurt.

But that day was somewhere off in the future, and Santana vowed as she wiped her tears away that when the day came that she returned to Lima, she would not return as the frightened girl she'd been when she left. No, when she came home, she would come back as someone better. Someone stronger, less fearful. Someone who had taken on the toughest city in the world and succeeded on her own terms, in her own way. Maybe she _would_ make it as a dancer, maybe not. Maybe her path would lead her to becoming something else, take an unexpected turn - but whatever she would become, she would make damned sure it was something special. This she swore on her beloved _abuelo's_ grave. He had always told her - whatever his stern, unforgiving wife had to say - that his granddaughter would one day make her mark on the world in a very unique way. In that moment, Santana promised herself that she would make that vision come true no matter what, that she would prove to her _abuela_ and everyone else that his faith in her had not been misplaced.

Before she began that journey, she decided, she needed to suck it up and call her _mami_ back. Her mother was being extremely understanding, considering all that Santana had put them through, and she knew they deserved to at least hear her voice. They weren't really the ones she was running from, after all.

Her hand hesitated over the phone again and she cursed herself, biting her lip. She was unsure what to say to them, and hoped that her _mami_ would do most of the talking. Abruptly, she realized how much she'd missed her mother's voice; she knew she'd completely lose it the moment she heard it again. Another wave of emotions crashed through her, and she started to think that maybe this whole "feelings" thing was just too much. Santana felt overwhelmed, and once again, she began to doubt that she was prepared to have a one-on-one conversation with her mother just yet.

Then she thought again about how her parents and friends had probably been feeling this whole time. She knew she had to call.

Quickly, she forced her thumb to hit the button before she could change her mind. One ring. Two rings. Three-

 _"Santana?! Oh, thank God!"_

Santana's heart caught in her throat and she just about dropped the phone. "Mami?"

" _Ay, dios mio_ , is it really you?" The anguish and disbelief in the voice of Maribel Lopez broke her daughter's heart, and a river of fresh tears burst forth at the sound of it. "Oh, sweetheart! I'm so glad you called! Where are you? How did you get there? Did...did anyone hurt you along the way? Oh, sweetheart, I am so _angry_ with you - but so happy you're all right!"

The words tumbled out of Maribel's mouth in a rush of conflicting, powerful emotions. She took a deep breath, trying desperately to regain her composure.

"You need to tell me _everything -_ right now."

Santana knew better than to argue with the tone her mother had used with those last five words. It was stern, but she heard the love that was laced into every syllable, felt it come through her ear and travel directly to her chest, where her heart fluttered with relief and anxiety at knowing that her _mami_ still cared so deeply for her.

" _Mami_ , I am so, so sorry." Santana barely choked out the words, her voice thick with emotion. Her throat was so tight it hurt. "I - I didn't think about how much you and _Papi_ would worry about me, or about my friends, or - or _anything_. I...I just had to get away from _abuela_. She was saying all these really terrible things, and I just couldn't listen to her anymore. I couldn't take what it was doing to me, what it was doing to you and _Papi -_ so I thought maybe it would be better for everybody if I just left. I didn't really think it through, or have any kind of plan - I just wanted to be gone."

"Your _abuela_ knows she was wrong to treat you that way. She comes from a different time, a different place," Maribel said, half-heartedly trying to defend her husband's mother, a proud, strong woman who had been through a great deal in her own life. "A different _world_ , really. It's just - there's so much she doesn't understand -"

Santana cut her off, anger at the memory of the way her grandmother had treated her for so long welling up inside her, demanding release. Once again, in her mind, she saw her _abuela_ 's scowling face, felt the sting of her hand against her cheek, tasted the blood trickling into her mouth from her split and swollen lip. It made her feel sick. No, she wouldn't go back. Not now. It was far too soon for her to even contemplate setting foot in that house again.

"So much she doesn't _want_ to understand, you mean. But she _does_ understand hate, and fear, and anger. You know that. You've seen it. You've heard it. I...I just can't live with that anymore, _mami_. I can't live in a place where it's a _sin_ just to be me." Santana's voice hardened with resolve. She needed her mother to know just how serious she was about this. "I _won't_. I miss you and _Papi_ more than I could possibly tell you, and Quinn and Britt and Mercedes too, but - like I told you in that message, I'm happy here."

She paused to collect herself and wipe her tears away. The vision of her angry, judgmental grandmother faded, and another, kinder face appeared in her mind's eye.

"My friend Rachel, she's helped me so much. Oh, _mami_ , you should hear her sing! She sounds like an angel. She's been so good and kind to me. I have to do something to pay her back for that, somehow. That's part of the reason I have to stay here. I need to prove to her that I'm worth all the trouble I've caused her - and you, and everyone else back home."

Maribel chuckled through her own tears, hearing the softness in her daughter's voice as she gushed about her new friend. She had long been aware of, and accepted, Santana's sexuality, ever since the very first time she'd heard her speak about another girl with that sweet, gentle tone, back when she was thirteen or so and on the verge of beginning to make the crossing from childhood to womanhood. Her heart ached at hearing it now, and she wished more than anything that she could hold her daughter, her only child, and tell her what she knew.

" _Santanita_...this Rachel girl," she said, unable to keep the smile from her voice. "You have a picture of her, yes? I would like to see the woman who saved my daughter from what could have been a very, _very_ bad situation - the woman who has apparently stolen my little girl's heart."

Santana felt a furious blush reach her cheeks. "I...stolen my heart? I don't know about that, _Mami_..." she mumbled, flustered. "But she's an _amazing_ friend. I'll send you a picture soon, I promise..."

"And you know you don't have to prove anything to _any_ of us, don't you, Santana?" Maribel's voice was kind, but firm. "The only one you ever have to prove anything to is _you._ "

Santana nodded, though she knew her mother couldn't see her. "I know that, _Mami_. I'm doing this for me. Really."

Maribel couldn't help but smile at Santana's determination. Although she was still very upset that Santana had left them all so worried, she understood why she had done it. More than anything else, she was just happy that her girl was safe and sound and not only unhurt, but that she had found a good friend. Yet she found herself feeling a little uneasy at the thought that her daughter was living with someone that she herself had never met. She knew Quinn and Brittany and Mercedes and most of Santana's other friends very well, but who _was_ this Rachel person, really?

"Are..." Santana cleared her throat. "Are my friends really mad at me?"

"They feel betrayed, Santana. You should probably write to them, just like you wrote to me. I'm sure they'd be okay with a text, although they might continue to be bitter for quite some time. I called them all after I got your text to let them know that you're okay, and they are very happy about it - just like your _Papi_ and I are."

Santana knew this was probably better than she deserved, and she wondered if they would even answer a text from her. _If I were in their position_ , she asked herself, _would I?_

She hoped she'd be a better person than that, then amended the thought. _No. The person I_ used to be _would have stayed bitter and angry for as long as possible, then held on to all that hurt and resentment until it just exploded out of her. But the person I am_ now? _Yes. Yes, I think I would answer._

"I...I was going to ask you to please tell them that I'm sorry. That I didn't mean to hurt them, or anyone." She took a deep breath, let it out, feeling herself calming a little. "But you're right. I should write to them. I just hope they'll forgive me."

"They will, sweetheart," Maribel said soothingly, hearing the note of uncertainty and fear in Santana's voice. "It might take them a little time - Brittany was especially upset - but they'll come around. Just let them know you regret how scared and sad you made them feel, and tell them you never meant for things to happen the way they did. They love you, Santana, just like your _Papi_ and I do. And even your _abuela_ does, hard-headed and stubborn as she is. You're a lot like her in that way, you know."

Santana laughed at that, grateful for her mother's gentle sense of humor. She wasn't wrong, either; that similarity had always been part of the problem between her and her _abuela_ , even before her sexuality had become an issue. They were both headstrong, each determined to have her way, completely certain that only _she_ was right and everyone else was wrong. Getting out into the big, wide world (even under less than ideal circumstances) had already helped her to see just how narrow that way of thinking really was.

"I love you, _Mami_. And _Papi_ , too," she said, filled with happiness at knowing that her mother's anger hadn't diminished her love even the tiniest bit. "I'll call you again soon. Or you call me, whatever. Okay?"

"Okay, _Santanita_. And don't forget to send me that picture of your friend Rachel. I need to know who's taking care of my baby while she's away from home. _Entiendes?_ "

" _Si, mami._ Tell _Papi_ to call me too, if he wants."

Suddenly Santana longed to hear her father's deep voice telling her that everything was going to be all right, as he always had when she was a little girl. Before she'd grown up and begun to think that maybe nothing would ever be all right.

"I will. I love you." Maribel's voice cracked on those last three precious words, and Santana winced with each one. "Just...don't stay away too long, please. The house feels so cold and quiet without you. Oh, before you go - I assume you're staying with this new friend of yours. Give me her address so I can send some of your things over."

"Okay, but...you're probably not going to believe me when you see it."

Maribel laughed lightly. "And why wouldn't I believe you, _mija?_ I assume you're quite a way from home?"

Santana took a deep breath. "You could say that," she agreed, suddenly feeling the need to busy herself around the apartment by distractedly putting things away while she spoke to her mother. " _Mami_ , I...I took a bus – well, I hitch-hiked too, a little - to New York." She sucked in a long, deep breath and waited for Maribel's reaction.

Her mother was speechless (as Santana had expected), and there was a long silence on the line that she knew meant that Maribel was trying to collect her thoughts and make sense of what she'd just heard.

 _Santana had gone off to the big city, all by herself? **My** Santana?! She'd only ever visited the city once before, and that was on a class trip - what could possibly have made her think that she was ready to go from tiny little Lima to...to New York City?!_

Maribel sent up another prayer of thanks that her daughter was alive and unharmed. Santana was very lucky she was safe, even though she'd always had a certain special air of confidence about her. If people in the city knew she was alone and sensed any weakness, any vulnerability, any sign that she was the least bit unsure of herself - _especially_ if she'd unknowingly gone through a bad part of town...

Maribel tried her best not to think about those things, to push those unpleasant, ugly thoughts away. All that mattered was that Santana safe, and she was okay. She was okay. She drew several deep breaths, then let them out, trying to calm herself before she spoke once again.

"I , I did not expect you to go so far from home - but I will send over as many of your things as I can, and again, I hope you'll come home to visit soon." Maribel was still stunned at the revelation that her daughter was in New York. She was proud, but shaken; she just hoped that Santana couldn't hear it in her voice. "And like I said before, your _abuela_ doesn't have to be there when you do. Text me the full address right away so I can get a few packages out to you as soon as possible. All right, love?"

"I will, _Mami_. I promise. And... _Mami_?" Santana had something to say to her mother that she knew held a deeper meaning than she could possibly convey, because Maribel actually understood why she had to do this, and what it was all about, and that meant the world to Santana. She stuck with two simple words, but as her voice cracked while speaking them, her mother knew just how important they were. "Thank you."

Santana sat in silence for some time afterwards, staring out the window at nothing in particular, feeling both relieved and tired after speaking with her mother. It occurred to her that somehow, she'd managed to avoid telling her the unbelievable yet true story of how she'd found herself alone on the street, knowing absolutely no one, with nowhere to go and only the clothes on her back and the few things in her purse, and was somehow saved by a short, intense young woman with her name in lights on Broadway, a huge voice and an open heart. She knew her mother well enough, though, to know that when she saw the "care of Rachel Berry" part in the address Santana texted to her, she would Google the name faster than you could say "who's Rachel Berry?" - and then the questioning would truly begin in earnest. It was one thing for her daughter to be friends with someone in New York; it was another thing for her to be friends with an honest to goodness celebrity - an award-winning actress and singer, no less. Rachel's star was rising fast, and if she wasn't nationally known now, she soon would be - Santana had no doubt about that.

She shook her head, laughing softly to herself, knowing only too well the reaction and the questions she would get when her mother learned the true identity of her friend and benefactor. She was grateful beyond words that her relationship with her mother had proven strong enough to endure even this, her latest misstep. As she sent up a wordless prayer of thanks to whatever mysterious force in the universe had bestowed all this good fortune upon her, Santana chose the picture of herself and Rachel that served as the wallpaper on her phone and sent it off to Maribel in a text message. Then she sent another one with Rachel's address in it, smiling in satisfaction when she was done, knowing it would take her mother a while to get over the initial shock of both messages before contacting her with a barrage of near-hysterical inquiries.

She couldn't wait.

* * *

And now Santana had another hurdle to clear, this one no more easily jumped than the one she'd just gotten over: sending a message to her friends. She had never been good at apologies; at home, they had always been mostly unspoken between her, Britt, Quinn and Mercedes. A push to the shoulder here, a nod of the head there - those were generally accepted in place of an _I'm sorry._ Words often got in the way for Santana, as sharp-tongued and quick-witted as she could be in most other situations. Barbed witticisms, clever insults, jokes that went over the heads of everyone except those in her tight-knit circle of friends - those she could rattle off with ease. But deep, heartfelt expressions of serious emotion? Those had never been her strong suit, and throughout her life, Santana had worked assiduously to avoid them whenever possible.

But now Santana had done the unthinkable. She had broken the strictly observed "11th commandment," which consisted of three simple words: _N_ _obody hurts Brittany._

The tall blonde with the ice-blue eyes was a gentle, almost childlike soul, given to enthusiastic flights of fancy and frequent displays of affection. She was so nice, so sweet, so genuinely loving and caring towards everybody, regardless of social status or clique membership, that it was regarded as an inviolable rule in the halls of McKinley High School. Everyone there knew that if you hurt Brittany S. Pierce, you committed the one unpardonable sin - and you _would_ be punished for it. Everyone else was fair game, but Brittany was special. She was a rare and precious unicorn, a magical treasure that must be protected from insult or injury at all times, and Santana had shown more than her share of offenders the error of their ways, ever since grade school. Now she had done the one thing she had sworn she would never do, and without a doubt, Quinn and Mercedes were probably as angry at her for that as they were for everything else, if not more so.

How would they treat her now, after what she had done? Santana wasn't entirely sure, nor was she particularly eager to throw herself upon their not so tender mercy, but nevertheless, it had to be done. She didn't want them all going off to college hating her for this, that was for sure. So she would do what she had to do, whatever it took, to somehow make peace and absolve herself. She would shut her eyes, stiffen her spine, and take her medicine like a big girl, no matter how bitter the taste.

Brittany had always held a very special place in Santana's heart, so she decided Brittany deserved the first apology. She knew the girl's number by heart, and typed it into the phone so she could send her a text. Britt was in summer school right now - her grades had been so poor that she'd have to redo her entire senior year - so calling her was out of the question. She decided to keep the message sweet and simple; she didn't want to upset Brittany any more than she already had, and she was absolutely determined to avoid adding insult to injury if she could possibly help it.

 _Hey, Britt-Britt. It's me...Sannie. I just wanted to let you know that I'm so so so sorry. I'm okay, I'm safe. And I really miss you. XO - San_

She sent it with a shaking finger and decided that she'd better write Quinn and Mercedes closely afterwards, or they'd be even more pissed that she'd only contacted one of them. After sending similar texts to both, she sat and waited. Waited for their forgiveness? Maybe...but she wasn't sure she was going to get it. She _was_ certain that she'd be lucky to get a response at all.

Restless and itching for something to do, she made a lunch for herself and sat down at the laptop, wondering what her next course of action should be. She'd contacted her family and friends, and put in an application for a job at the diner. Though she knew she could probably apply to other places, she was completely run down emotionally. Maybe a nap would be a good idea. Pushing so much in one day was enough to make her go crazy.

 _Yes...a nap. That sounds like a **capital** idea._

* * *

When Rachel came in to find both her laptop and Santana asleep - one on the coffee table, the other on the large sofa that dominated the living room - she stifled the impulse to let out a little _aww_ at the way Santana was sprawled out there, limbs everywhere, hair sprawled out like a fan across the plush pillow supporting her head and neck. The girl's chest rose and fell in perfect sync with her soft, gentle breathing, and Rachel couldn't help but stare at her beautiful face, so calm and tranquil in slumber. As she watched Santana sleep, Rachel - whose day had been on the difficult side thanks to Dakota Stanley's worse than usual behavior - felt herself calming, the morning's tension slowly leaving her body. As her own breathing slowed to a pace more resembling the rhythm of Santana's, she felt the dark mood the irascible choreographer's antics had brought on begin to lift from her.

She put her purse and keys down on the little table next to the door, wincing a bit as the keys jangled lightly against each other, and crept into the kitchen, where she grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator. Yes, Dakota Stanley had put her on edge, but she wasn't going to let his nonsense affect her a moment longer, and she damned sure wasn't going to allow his absurd criticisms to affect her performance either. She'd learned a long time ago that the "Napoleon of Broadway" was a man whose ego had come to outstrip his ability, and she knew that soon enough, this fatal flaw would catch up with him. Her star was rising, his was falling, and everyone backstage and in the audience knew it. In truth, it was his brilliant assistant choreographer, a tall, good-looking young man by the name of Michael Chang, who was doing the lion's share of work with the dancers, and he was garnering an excellent reputation as a result. Rachel had no doubt that he was destined for great things - and it certainly wouldn't hurt that she had spoken very highly of him to several of the important friends she'd already made in the musical theater world.

The cell phone Rachel had bought for Santana suddenly made a sound, jolting the slumbering girl from her peaceful rest. Rachel watched as she sat bolt upright with a look of confusion and alarm on her face, her head turning from side to side as if to ascertain the direction from which the danger was coming, and the unknown nature of the threat. The young starlet tried and failed to stifle a giggle at the sight, and Santana's eyes narrowed as she caught sight of Rachel and realized she was being watched.

"I'm sorry, Santana. I know some people find it creepy for someone to watch them while they sleep, but I couldn't help it," Rachel apologized even as she continued to chuckle. She set her water bottle down on the kitchen island. "You just looked so adorable, sprawled out with your legs and arms pointing every which way."

Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, Santana mumbled, "I don't always sleep like that. Just when I'm really tired." She paused, blinking groggily. "When did you get back?"

"Just a few moments ago. I thought I'd check in on you, see what you were up to," Rachel said, smiling. "I'm glad it was the phone that woke you and not me." The phone sounded again, loudly, the same sound that had played before. "Apparently you have a message...?" Her voice went up on that last word, indicating her curiosity as to who the sender might be.

"Oh! Yeah...I...I finally got in touch with my mom," replied Santana, a drowsy but happy expression on her face. "I called her, and we talked for a while. It was good. Thanks...you know, for pushing me about that. I don't know if I ever would have worked up the courage to do it, if you hadn't been on me about it."

"You're welcome, but I don't believe that," Rachel said flatly, removing the cap from bottle and drinking deeply. "I knew you would do it eventually. You just needed some time, that's all. You were afraid they'd be really angry with you, so you put it off. I know how that feels, believe me. I didn't get in trouble too often when I was younger, but believe me, when I did, I was afraid to talk to my dads too."

" _You?_ _In trouble?_ " Santana scoffed to cover her surprise at how insightful Rachel was. "I find that _very_ difficult to believe. In fact, I can't even _imagine_ it."

Rachel let out a gale of laughter. "Oh, I did. Remind me to tell you about the time back in high school when I sent a Glee Club rival to an inactive crackhouse under the guise of sending her to an audition."

"You did not!" Santana didn't even have to pretend to be shocked; she had done a lot of things she wasn't exactly proud of doing in her high school days, but never anything quite so devious as that. Rachel nodded, and Santana's mouth gaped open. "NO!" They both laughed uproariously.

"It's true, unfortunately. My fathers were _extremely_ unhappy when I finally got up the nerve to tell them about that." Rachel paused, casting her mind back in time. "I didn't get to record any of my singing YouTube videos for a month as punishment - which I was absolutely certain would greatly damage my path of progress towards Broadway stardom."

Santana fixed her with a serious look. "I don't think _anything_ could have kept you from ruling the stage. It's what you were born to do. I knew that the second I saw you up there."

Rachel ducked her head at the compliment, blushing. "Well, that _might_ be true, but I was...a little insecure back in those days. The other girl, her name was Sunshine, believe it or not - she had an exceptional voice, and I...I kind of felt threatened," she admitted quietly. "She would have been a great addition to our club, but when she returned from the place I'd sent her, she refused to join and ended up transferring to another school all the way across town, where she became _their_ glee club's star. I didn't think my teammates would ever forgive me. I didn't think I would ever forgive _myself._ " She let out a sigh over the memory, as though it still pained her to recall. "It was the worst thing I've ever done. Happily, Sunshine forgave me, and we became friends...very good friends, in fact."

Santana caught the change in Rachel's tone as she said those last few words, heard the meaning beneath them. But before she could say anything, the phone sounded once more.

She figured enough was probably enough and reached down to see who it was. Three new texts popped up on the main screen, two of which were from Brittany. The first one read:

 _I love you, Sannie and I'm glad your ok, but you hurt me and that's unexceptable -_

And the second:

 _I hope you feel bad for leaving me because you broke my heart and I don't no if I can forgive you rite now  
_  
The grammatical and spelling errors in the texts didn't faze Santana. There was a reason why Britt was in summer school and redoing her senior year; she'd always been behind when it came to schoolwork. Instead of focusing on how she wrote her words, Santana felt a pang in her heart at what the texts were saying to her. She'd kind of expected that Brittany would be the most upset out of all of them - she was her ex-girlfriend and best friend, and Santana had known going into this how Britt had always had difficulty accepting change.

That didn't make it hurt any less, though.

Santana felt tears spring to her eyes, tried to force them back. She'd already cried so much today, so much since the night she'd left home. She was frankly sick of crying, yet she couldn't seem to stop.

"Is...everything okay?" Rachel's sweet, caring tone of voice made Santana want to curl up in her arms and finally allow the tears to fall, but she didn't. Instead she just nodded her head, a bit shakily, and moved on to the next message.

It was from Quinn.

 _What the hell gave you the right to just run away like that? Haven't you always been the one who said we have to face our problems head-on? I knew you were leaving after graduation, but you could've given us 24 hours notice, San, damn. I hope you're happy wherever you are. You really hurt Brittany, too, which you know is never okay in anyone's book. I'm sure you've had the time to think through all of this, so I'm not going to keep chewing you out. Just...stop making stupid decisions_.

Santana's heart was pounding as she read the text, trying to pick it out sentence by sentence, unsure how to even start a response back. Yes, she had always been the headstrong one in the group, the one who made the final decisions, unless Quinn was too stubborn to say otherwise. The one who laughed in the face of struggle. But now she had run away. If Quinn had known the true severity of her situation, would she have said what she did in that message? Maybe, maybe not. It was hard to say with her. And yes, she could have given them some kind of notice. She felt dumb at being reminded of that; her only justification was fear, which had driven so many of her decisions throughout her life. She'd simply been too afraid to let anyone know just what was really going on in her home - and then, out of nowhere, she was gone.

It wasn't her finest hour, and she'd known she was going to be judged for it later, but she just wished people would step off and leave her to make her own calls. Everyone was saying the things they were based on the choices _they_ would have made...but they weren't _her_. They hadn't been through what she'd been through. They simply didn't understand it, but her future wasn't in their hands.

"I take it your friends aren't being very forgiving," said Rachel, carefully watching her new friend. It hurt, seeing the pain in Santana's eyes, the sadness in her face.

Santana wet her lips and gave a silent nod, deciding it was best not to answer Quinn right away. She wasn't sure how to respond anyway, and she knew better than to try to respond when she felt so upset.

Honestly, it felt like betrayal - but Santana knew that was exactly how Quinn and Brittany and probably even Mercedes felt. It would take Mercedes longer to respond than the other two, though, because while Mercedes had a hotter temper by far, she was self-aware enough to let it cool before letting things go from a small wastebasket fire to a blazing inferno. She and Santana had been through some epic, knock-down, drag-out fights back in the day, but thankfully, they'd both matured quite a bit since then.

Still, Santana's heart hurt, all the more because she felt that somehow, some way, she could have prevented all this bad feeling from ever happening. She could have gone to any of their houses, stayed with them for a while. She didn't have to leave Lima altogether. And yet, she had to be honest with herself: she had always felt a subconscious desire, a mysterious pull towards the unknown and away from her hometown, thrumming inside her. As much as she loved her friends, her family, and the town itself (well, most of the time), she had always known that she didn't want to be one of those so-called 'Lima losers' - one of those people who was born there, lived her entire life there, and ultimately died there. Lima, Ohio, was a nice place, but the truth was that Santana had always hungered to know what else was out there, and one way or the other, she was going to see and taste it all. She'd just never imagined that journey would start so soon, or under such heart-rending circumstances.

She felt Rachel's eyes on her, watching her silently, felt the care and concern radiating from her tiny frame. Rachel's desire to say something was palpable, but she wasn't sure what the right thing to say might be - or if there even was a right thing to say in this kind of situation. Over the course of their nascent friendship, they'd been learning when to talk to each other and when to remain silent. Santana was completely aware that she could be extremely moody, and had come to know that Rachel had her moods as well. The differences between them had quickly become apparent, and they were still learning to find their way around those differences. Rachel tried to be the sunny optimist at almost all times, while Santana was given to sullen, darkly silent periods of internalized rage and sadness. She wished that she could be more like Rachel in this moment, that she could adopt the starlet's _Annie_ -like certainty that the sun would come out tomorrow, and everything would be all right - but right now, her heart was too bruised, her feelings too hurt, for her to even attempt to see beyond the pain. In Rachel's world, everything could be healed with just the right words, just the right song; but in Santana's world, more often than not, healing was found in silence.

"People just suck sometimes," she said softly, and all Rachel could do in reply was gently wrap her in a tender, protective hug, into which she melted gratefully. For Santana, that said far more than any words ever could.


End file.
